BETTY-I feel a little funny. Don't we have to bring books and all that jazz some of the nights?
DAVE-Once in a while. We're supposed to be here to study.
Betty turned in his arms, guided his hand to her zipper. Dave's pulse began to throb. Evidently she was no stranger to sex. He ran the zipper down until it hit the stop above her buttocks. The box-like dress slid unhindered to the floor. Dave's hands explored hungrily....
BETTY-Love me, Dave. Love me hard-love me terribly. Hurt me, make me scream-
DAVE-I can't let you scream.
BETTY-What difference does it make? You and I are the only ones who count. We're the only two people left on earth-
What makes so many of today's teenagers think they're the sole humans alive? More important-could they be right?
CHAPTER ONE
SALLY LED the way into the bedroom. The room held an acrid odor of perspiration. The darkness was complete. The windows were opaquely covered. Dave's sensation was that he and Sally were standing, their arms about each other, in the bottom of a bottle of ink. A certain humidity in the air added to the illusion. The blackness felt tangible, contaminating.
An equally dark excitement roiled in him.
Sally giggled. "Isn't this much better than a parked car?"
Dave thought that the room would be better. But he still did not know. The fast beat of rock 'n roll seeped thinly up the flight of stairs and slipped under the door.
"Miller doesn't mind our using his bedroom?" Miller was the math teacher. He was downstairs in the kitchen.
"You're all tensed up, boy." Sally pressed against him in the darkness. Her lips touched Dave's and he felt their heat all the way down to where trouble waited.
Except that, this time, he anticipated no trouble.
Sally was a junior in high school. But she was more. She was a woman, built like one and ready to act like one. She was warmly curved, big-breasted and properly indented. Touching her put Dave on fire.
The moment was like dreams he had known. Dave was afraid the illusion might break and that he would find himself again alone in his own room. But this was no dream. He was in Miller's house. A cram session was taking place in the living room-at least what was supposed to be a cram session. A dozen other students were down there listening to records, drinking beer-and longing to use the bedroom Sally and Dave were in.
Bill Miller's wide-open, shut-tight bedroom.
"One thing," Sally said. "Don't hurt me." Her voice was next to him, yet seemed to be coming from nowhere.
"What makes you think I would?" Dave tightened his arm around her waist to reassure himself that she was still close to him and not miles away.
"I just don't want to be hurt. I can't afford to miss any more school."
"You missed school because someone hurt you?"
Sally did not answer. He felt her move, heard the small sound of a zipper. Then nothing. He stood motionless. Sally moved again and hands touched his face, causing him to start.
"You didn't promise."
"I promise," Dave answered. His question had been foolish. Why would she answer it?
His hand slid under Sally's sweater, up the smooth flesh of her back. Moist lips brushed his cheek. A surcharge of excitement compounded what he already felt-made him suddenly big, a conqueror seconds away from victory.
Sally's lips combined acrid electricity with sweetness-they burned as they saccharized. Dave savored the molding of her body to his. He slid his hand down her back while they stood locked in an embrace.
He went rigid. The skirt below the sweater had dropped away, vanished. He remembered the whispering sound of the zipper. Sally had worn nothing under the skirt. His hand followed through on bare flesh that swelled out, soft and pliant.
"You said you wouldn't hurt me."
Dave became aware that his fingers were digging, grasping. He eased their pressure. I'm sorry.
She giggled again. "Don't be sorry-at least you're interested. But standing is awkward. Let's get comfortable-I won't run away."
Sally's familiarity with the room enabled her to lead him through the mky dark. His knees touched the edge of a bed. He and Sally fell across it.
The bed had been used earlier in the evening. The covers were tangled.
Sally suddenly whispered, "You've got a steady girl. How is she?"
Dave felt anger. Why did she have to bring up Jeanie at a time like this? Was she trying to spoil everything?
"Jeanie's great. Are we supposed to be running a comparison test?"
He felt down with his hand, pushed back the disordered bedcovers. A mental image of Jeanie formed, guilt-framed, in his mind. It vanished and he reached for the reality of Sally. He found that now her sweater was gone. Also, no bra. Thrusting breasts, hard-nippled, met his hand. Their skin was softer than anything he had ever known-only the nipples were unyielding.
Sally's breath came quickly. "Get undressed."
She helped him, her hands strangely expert in the dark. Having a girl undress him was a new experience for Dave. Sally's fingers probed swiftly as he grew naked. Unfamiliar sensations galvanized him to roughness until Sally again protested. He felt anger and shame. There had been gentle hints downstairs about his lack of experience. To explode with anxiety too soon would confirm the gibes.
Their bodies came together. Sally's arms fastened around his neck. Her breast tips, as hard as small buttons, pressed against Dave's chest. He savored them briefly, then knew a surging need of imminent conquest.
"Take it easy-" Sally laughed quietly. 'It takes a girl longer to get ready-but I'm pretty fast. Just love me up a little."
He kissed her, felt all over her, but neither the kissing nor the feeling was anything much compared to what he wanted. He was overanxious and crude and Sally suddenly cried, "Stop-you promised not to hurt-"
Dave froze. Then Sally's hands were pulling him once more to her.
"You need teaching, Davey," she crooned. "I won't take long-"
Dave did not hear her. Her encouragement compounded his urgency. It had to be now. Sally suddenly fought him, tried to roll away. He held her locked and pinned down with his weight.
"Stop struggling," Dave snapped. "You wanted me here. Don't chicken out now."
"I'm not chickening-you bast-"
With all his athletic ability and strength he could not keep her from evading him-but his mouth muffled hers. At last, in disgust, he released her and sat up.
"Is this the kind of time you give Miller when he comes up here with you?" he asked bitterly.
"Now who is comparing?"
"I want to know-do you give him a hard time, too?"
"I told you-you want to work too fast."
"Maybe you're a little slow."
"Man, you have got to learn," she murmured. "Come back down here and we'll do this right."
Again her hands tugged at him. Her breath still panted. She wanted him all right-or wanted something from him.
Dave wondered what she would say if he suddenly got up and left her naked and alone on the bed. Probably nobody had ever pulled that switch on her before. And right now he was mad enough to do it.
"I like you, Dave," Sally crooned. "Does that sound silly? I've wanted you in bed with me since the first day I saw you in class. Don't spoil it now. Don't be crude like the rest of the kids. Act like a man."
"Like Miller?"
"Why pick on Miller? All right-like Miller, if that's the way you have to put it. He makes a girl feel important. Do that to me, Dave. Don't you feel I'm important?"
She was important. She mattered to his masculinity-and as a means of putting an end to those lonely dreams. Her breath touched his cheek. One bare breast was rubbing his arm. He had come to Miller's house expecting a cram session in schoolwork. Here was a graduate course in maturity. He would be a fool to ignore it.
He let her pull him down.
He found her waiting lips. A darting tongue touched his. Slender fingers played over his bare back, dissipating, decentralizing his body's demands-so that presently he realized he was enjoying the anticipation of what must come.
And it had to come. He knew now that in the end he would force her if he had to.
"Isn't this better?" Sally asked breathlessly. She drew his face to her breasts. A soft sigh filled the dark room when he kissed the expectant flesh. The sound came from them both.
The fine line of her throat drew his attention-somehow his mouth defined it in the dark, sliding along it. He wished for some light-if he were able to enjoy her visually she would make more sense to him. Dave wondered how long he was expected to restrain himself. He and Sally were pressed together as tightly as two clams in a shell. He would not be able to hold out forever.
Abruptly he knew that the moment had come. He sensed it in himself as well as in her.
She made a small, inarticulate sound at his invasion-neither hunger nor protest.
She murmured his name.
What followed was a flashing rocket ride to the moon, a sudden dip from the top of a giant roller coaster, whipping a car around a sharp curve at a hundred miles an hour-all excitement he had ever known and much that he had never guessed at were his for a timeless instant.
He came to the explosive end. Sally continued to hold him tightly. Her fingers were digging into the solid flesh of his shoulders.
Too soon, Dave thought. Too damn soon. I bungled it....
Sally laughed into his ear.
"I told you-you need teaching. Hang on-"
He hung on. Nothing could have made him let go. A hunger grew in him to test her sensations. He realized abruptly that his own fulfillment depended on hers.
She began to stir gently. He could feel himself coming alive again.
Sally had taught him something, he thought secretly. Making it with a girl was more complex than he had imagined. Until right now he had classified chicks into two categories-those you did not touch in certain ways, such as Jeanie, and those you did touch and tried to make out with-having your own way your sole objective.
This deal with Sally was more. She wanted kicks as much as you did-and she made you want to give them to her.
He was succeeding now and knew a feeling of triumph he had not anticipated. He held on tightly. Something was happening in Sally-to Sally-and he was making it happen.
He sensed her growing excitement. Her hands still danced over his flesh-but digging now, stabbing his flesh with small, electric shocks.
She spoke his name again, this time not in a whisper. The way she said it made him feel great. Her fingernails were chewing at his back like the claws of some wild animal. He barely felt the pain-what he felt was good. A second blast came and this time she was part of it....
He felt her give all the way-then relax. He eased his grip on her.
She broke the ensuing silence.
"We have to go back downstairs, Dave."
"Not now." The urge to be with her was still with him.
"We've been here too long. You shouldn't have wasted time arguing. Bill's going to be mad."
"Nuts to Bill." Miller had made the room available-with no time limit that Dave knew of.
"You want us to come here again, don't you?"
"There are other places we can use."
Sally nibbled at his cheek. "I'd be scared some place else. This is safe. I know how you feel. I feel the same way. We'll come up again real soon. At the next cram session-I promise."
To hell with cram sessions-this was something else. But he had to admit the cram sessions made a good cover. He sighed and released her. Sally's fingers caressed his face.
"I like you, Dave-like I mean-really. You were the most."
Dave smiled. He felt as if he had just received his diploma. Cum laude in the dark-maybe even magna. He and Sally got off the bed. Dave held Sally's arm. "Where's the light?"
"On the dresser. Why?"
"I want to turn it on."
Sally gasped. "Don't. It's one of the rules. We're all supposed to be downstairs, cramming over books. Bill has to keep up a front. You know that."
"Just for a minute. Can't be any risk in that. Hell, people are always looking into a bedroom for something. How can anyone outside tell who's in here? Or even that we're more than one person?"
Sally hesitated. "What's so important about a light?"
"I want to see you. Just for one minute."
He heard her move in the pitch blackness.
"I'll work the switch," she said.
The sudden light stung Dave's eyes. He focused them hungrily in the direction of the small sound the light switch had made. A minute was short and he knew Sally would give him no more.
She stood beside a maple dresser, one hand under the shade. Perspiration had given her body a slight sheen. Highlights leaped at Dave from her naked curves. The faint outline where a bathing suit had protected the skin shone white in contrast with the strong tan of her shoulders and legs. Her flesh still blushed faintly from the weight of his body and where he had gripped her.
Excitement was still trapped in her large breasts-in her glowing eyes. He wanted to yell and seize her again-but made himself stand quietly, absorbing what had been completely his. And he realized she was giving him more than a minute. She liked his rapt attention.
She still had it when the lights went out.
He fumbled for his clothes in the dark, dressed quickly. The whisper of Sally's movements came to him, gave him a depressing sense of return to the ordinary. He kept his thoughts on the magic of Sally's nakedness.
He and Sally paused for one last embrace at the door. Sally pressed against him and, oddly, the embrace had the quality if not the actual substance of their earlier intimacy.
"I didn't hurt you," Dave said.
"You know it."
She kissed him deeply and a moltenness began to flow once more through him. She eased away.
"Save some energy, Dave. You won't have any left for football at the rate you want to go."
"To hell with football."
"Yay, team." Sally laughed softly. "But save it for the next cram session, then. We really have to go down now. We're not the only ones here tonight."
She kissed him and they began to walk down the long hallway.
CHAPTER TWO
THE MEMORY of Sally's nakedness stayed with Dave. The real thing-not a picture in a magazine.
Her body was just as good, though, as those he had seen in pictures. And he had held her in his arms, had been one with her-her warmth and aliveness were a part of his memory.
Reality. The memory was as tangible as the present-the noise downstairs, the sound of the record player, the kids talking, laughing, sometimes yelling softly to each other. All this had been going on all the time he and Sally had been on the bed and he had never thought of it. Oh, yes-he had heard the thin strains of the rackety music seeping under the dark door in the beginning. After that he had been in another world. But it all had been part of this.
Reality. The word haunted him.
The floor of the living room was covered with young bodies, some relaxed, others moving restlessly. Some couples were necking.
Dud Ames and Ed Evers, both of the football squad, grinned at Dave.
"I thought you two were going to grow old up there," Dud said. "You're not playing the game when you take so long. Next time, hire a hall."
Somebody laughed. Dud began to climb to his feet. A boy-girl couple brushed past him, passed Dave and Sally, headed upstairs. Dud gave an ugly grunt and collapsed again. He turned to the girl beside him.
"Those sophs," he said. "I must be slowing down. How did they manage to take off that fast?"
His girl shrugged. She seemed engrossed in the music. Dave found himself wondering how it would be with her upstairs.
Sally touched his arm. "Don't go away. I'll be back in a few minutes." She disappeared into another room.
The singer on the record was rambling through one of the top ten songs. The atmosphere was one of relaxation. No school books were in sight. Dave had left his in the foyer, near the door.
Most cram sessions were run for one sex or the other-mixed affairs were frowned on by most of the faculty. Bill Miller encouraged them. Miller, a math teacher trailing clouds of glory from his All-American football days, believed kids ought to be permitted, as he put it, "to live a little." Especially the athletic crowd. His joining the faculty had brought prestige to the school and he used the fact to counter other faculty members' opposition.
No one but Bill's inner circle of students knew quite what went on at the mixed cram sessions. Miller had never publicly announced his contention that a little beer and sex under supervision was better for the students than their becoming high-school dropouts. The kids would indulge in both, anyway.
Tonight's was Dave's first session at Miller's house. Frank Mains had offered the invitation in the locker room that afternoon. Frank was a star halfback on the high-school football team and one of Miller's close clique.
Dave had expected a stag affair. Frank had said nothing about girls. When Dave had seen six in the room upon his arrival he had been just a little surprised, although he had been aware of rumors about Miller. It had soon become obvious that there would be little cramming done that night. Beer had appeared before too long. Sally had kept glancing in Dave's direction until finally they had been drinking beer together. Somewhere along the fine Frank had mentioned the bedroom upstairs. At first Dave had thought Frank's words had been kidding. He had hardly known Sally. He had seen her a few times at school-she had a notable figure, a knowing way of moving. But she had taken Frank seriously, had offered to go upstairs with Dave. Dave had stalled. He had necked pretty hotly with his steady, Jeanie, but nothing serious had ever developed. Sally had needled him about his stalling. She had tossed out a crack about his being a virgin-which had been almost the truth.
And now it was over. He was near-virginal no more. His first experience had been with a cheap whore-whom he still wanted to forget. Now he had been in bed with Sally-a romp he wanted to remember. The other incident had left him disgusted-almost as if he had done something alone. But he had proved himself to Sally-and to himself. The only problem bothering Dave now was the risk involved with all that beer out in plain sight. Someone might drop in unexpectedly and it could be the end of the football team. Most of the first-stringers were present. Without Dud, Frank and Ed, the season might never start. Coach Hartman could be rough about training rules.
Dave was mixing his worries with a mental replay of the bedroom scene when Frank Mains appeared at his side, holding two cans of beer. Frank offered one to Dave.
"Something wrong, Dave?"
Dave grasped the beer. "Suppose what goes on here leaks out."
"Forget it, chum." Frank grinned. "The place is tighter than lockjaw. The house was given to Bill when his mother died. No one can pop in uninvited. Just remember the few rules I mentioned earlier. Be quiet. No loud yelling or raising hell. Watch the front shades-we don't want people looking in. The downstairs lights have to be on all the time-no lights upstairs. And no heavy smooching down here."
"I'm worried about Hartman. I've got to make good on the team. I need a football scholarship for college. I haven't got a buck toward tuition."
Frank gave a short, ugly laugh. "You're afraid of Hartman?"
"Aren't you?"
Frank almost dropped his can of beer, laughing. A few heads turned in his direction, then went back to the music coming from the portable.
"My, my. I thought you had your hand on the pulse here. You mean to stand there and tell me you don't know Hartman and the way he works?"
"How does he work?"
Frank used his free hand to push Dave down into an empty chair. "Sit down, little friend, while Uncle Frank tells you about the birds and the bees."
Frank squatted on the floor.
"First of all, it is better that you learn it all while you are still young. The shock will wear off by the time you go to college. Coach Hartman is a politician, more of a politician than a coach. The breed isn't new. So if we do run into trouble you can bet your butt Hartman will back us up to the hilt. He wants to keep his job and we are the guys who will help him keep it. Bill could qualify for Hartman's job in a pinch-and don't think some of the prestige-hungry members of the board of education haven't suggested it. You know this town-status suburbia. Why not have a headline coach?"
"Hartman is pretty good," Dave said.
"Sure he is," Frank agreed. "Probably better than Bill. But do the wheels who run this town know that? Hartman'll keep in line."
This was news to Dave. Still, it made sense. Bill's football headlines were not too old and had been publicized here.
Dave started to get up from his chair. Suddenly the music was a little too loud and the smell of beer strong. The thought that Hartman was a good coach kept pounding him. Frank stood up, held him in the chair with one hand.
"You can play rings around Buck Myers. We both know that," Frank said sternly. "Hartman knows it. I'll bet you a wet cigar you'll have a hard time showing it this year."
"It's a bet."
They shook hands on it. Frank took a healthy pull from the can of beer, wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
"You had a different opinion in the locker room this afternoon," Dave said. "You hinted I was a sure candidate for a good year."
"I did say that." Frank nodded. "You can beat Myers but it doesn't say you'll be in for the key plays. I can fix things so you'll shine."
"How do you figure that?"
The heavy sound of footsteps came from the hallway before Frank could answer. Bill Miller entered the room. Frank moved to shake hands with Miller, then pointed back to where Dave was sitting.
Miller came over, patted Dave on the shoulder.
"Frank tells me you're quite a footballer-but without the right backing in this town."
Miller was young to be a teacher. He was in his middle twenties. He was big, the leader type. He still possessed the grace of an athlete, with lean, agile hands and a sure quickness to each movement. He was square-jawed, handsome.
"Thanks, Mr. Miller," Dave said, struggling to get out of the chair.
"Bill. That mister part's for the birds." Miller turned to Frank. "I need a beer. I hope you guys didn't clean me out."
"Hell, no. You've got enough out there to float the Statue of Liberty."
Dave watched the pair amble to the kitchen. He felt confused. Insecurity was not new to him-but he had trusted Hartman. He had won games for Hartman and the coach had been pushing him for a scholarship. Was the prize to be snatched from him? And why? Because Buck Myers' father was a big man in the community?
And where did Frank fit in? And Sally-and Bill Miller-who had mentioned "right backing" in town? Dave felt he had moved into another world. It was all new to him.
The gang sprawled out on the floor seemed to come alive at Miller's appearance. Until now they had been content to listen to the latest recordings-with an occasional bumping of buttocks between male and female, some dancing. Now they began to stir, override the music with conversation. Miller's presence seemed to have sparked them. For what?
Dave was deep in his own thoughts when Sally returned and sat on the arm of his chair.
Her ink-black hair was smoothed and damp. Her breasts seemed to want to swell through the tight sweater she was wearing.
"How does it feel to be initiated into the club, Dave?"
Dave looked up at her. "I didn't know this was an initiation."
Sally laughed. "What do you think that was we were doing in the bedroom?"
Dave frowned. "Was the whole bit just an initiation? Do you service all new members?"
"Don't be silly. I don't go to bed with each one. I mean using the room. Being allowed up there means that you've been accepted."
Sally rubbed her hip against Dave's arm. He still felt the hot spots where her touch had seemed to singe him earlier. He eased an arm over the chair, rested it around the supple flanks. She grinned down at him, took his hand, moved it to her thigh, high up. His fingers began to probe. She stopped them with a playful slap on the back of his hand. "Maybe you'd better get me a beer, Dave. I'm thirsty-
Her request, Dave assumed, had something to do with the rules. No rough stuff downstairs. But the molten feeling returning to his loins was no doubt being rekindled in her also.
Dave stood up reluctantly. His hand brushed Sally's soft abdomen. As he walked toward the kitchen he thought of Jeanie. How would she compare with Sally? He found visualizing Jeanie in a comparable situation hard-even impossible.
Why? Jeanie was a girl.
Bill Miller and Frank Mains were huddled near the kitchen sink, telling jokes. They broke off as Dave entered.
"Sally wants a beer," Dave said. "I could stand another myself."
Frank's face brightened. He banged the teacher's arm.
"Didn't I tell you he was okay? Yes, sir. Okay. This guy is going to be Hartman's headliner at fullback this year. Hartman doesn't know it yet." Frank winked. "He's been stringing Dave along-thinks he's got other obligations to meet. Dave's competition for the spot is a kid named Buck Myers. Myers has a rich daddy."
Frank left Miller, gripped Dave's arm in a brief gesture of friendship. He opened the refrigerator and drew out two cans of cold beer, stuck them in Dave's hands after opening them.
Dave wanted to learn more about what Frank seemed to know about Hartman. The picture Frank had drawn was clear. Was it true? Had Hartman been stringing Dave along? Anger stirred in him at the thought.
He suppressed it, managed a grin. "This is really living," he said. "I've been moving in the wrong circles up to now."
"You have, Dave-if Frank digs the scene right," Miller said. "You have to go big early in the game. It's not enough just to be good. You've got to get headlines, attention. When you've got talent you're open to being exploited. The world is out to get you. It will, unless you're too smart and tough for it I know-I've been there."
"Yes, sir."
"Not 'sir,'" Miller corrected. "Bill. You belong now. I understand you and Sally hit it off right from the start. She's a nice girl. Right, Frank?"
Frank nodded, sipping beer.
Dave went back to Sally. Miller's words rang bells in his mind. Dave's problem was there was no man around his house to put him straight. His old man was dead. His mother was no help when it came to football-or showing him the inside of a man's world in general. How much time had he wasted, making Hartman, instead of himself, look good? And now, was he supposed to make Buck Myers look good on the field while saving Hartman's games?
Because Buck had a father.
Sally took her can of beer, drank deeply.
"What took you so long?"
"I was talking to Miller," Dave answered.
The two sophs had returned to the room, he noticed. Another couple was gone. The bedroom was getting a heavy play.
Dave tried to keep Jeanie from his mind. But he found her sneaking into his thoughts. This impatience to go to bed with a girl-he had never felt it as strongly with Jeanie as he now did with Sally. Did that mean Jeanie lacked something Sally had? Jeanie could stir him profoundly-but differently. He was sure of one thing-the thin veneer of sophistication he had acquired over the past year of going steady with Jeanie was warping out of shape from the heat being given off by Sally. He would never be quite the same again. The front doorbell rang.
Dave came off the chair as if propelled by an explosion. His eyes swept wildly to Sally and the can of beer she was holding.
"Down here." She slipped the can under the skirts of the overstuffed chair. Dave spilled half of his, trying to put it beside the one Sally had hidden.
The record player blasted suddenly. Dud had twisted the control. The action was a signal, no doubt, to the couple upstairs-but if they were as lost as Dave and Sally had been....
Dave was doubtful the bedmates would hear it.
CHAPTER THREE
BILL MILLER came from the kitchen moving with the agility of a broken-field runner without actually running. Miller made a sweeping motion with his hands and the rest of the cans of beer vanished. Some books leaped up from nowhere.
Panic swept Dave. His books were in the foyer. He almost got up and followed the teacher. Then he saw Frank Mains standing quietly in the doorway leading to the kitchen. Frank was leaning nonchalantly against the jamb, apparently without a care in the world.
His casual self-confidence reached Dave. He felt his tight muscles relax. He even managed a wink at Frank.
Five long minutes passed. The record player resumed normal volume. No sounds of commotion came from the front door, only pleased voices, one of which belonged to Bill Miller.
Miller returned, accompanied by another man. Both men surveyed the room.
"Gang, I want you to meet the best end ever to play in the old conference. Rich Taylor. He's joining the faculty here. In our senior year we set a record for the number of passes completed. I tossed them and Rich ran away with them."
Taylor was a big man. He stood three inches taller than Miller and Miller was over six feet. His flesh was packed solidly around a rugged frame. Taylor almost filled the doorway.
Taylor said, "Hi."
He deadpanned the greeting. His nostrils widened, contracted. No cans were visible but the stench of beer was in the room and everyone, including Taylor, was aware of it.
Miller and Taylor walked into the kitchen. They stopped for a moment, spoke a few words to Frank, then moved out of sight of those in the living room.
Frank Mains ambled into the living room, squatted in front of the portable, placed a new record on the turntable.
"Large man," he muttered. "King-Kong large. What an end he must have been. I wonder why he didn't try for the pros?"
He stretched out on the floor.
Frank Mains was not easily impressed. But Rich Taylor had impressed him, Dave noted with some surprise. He himself had felt the impact of Taylor's size. He also remembered headlines. He sensed all the kids in the room felt as if a celebrity had suddenly appeared among them.
"Maybe he has a weakness," Dave said, not really believing the statement. "With all the money being given away in the pro ranks-why should he teach school for peanuts?"
Frank laughed, still staring at the kitchen.
"Maybe he likes peanuts."
Dud Ames rolled over on his side, took in the two seniors with a bored look.
"Football, football. Don't you guys ever give up on that jazz?"
A blond junior was sprawled on the rug beside Dud. He gave her a friendly pat on the buttocks, a gesture he had been indulging in during most of the evening.
"Football is for the field on a Saturday. I came here to work some of the kinks out of my body. I hope Bill loses that jerk Taylor in a hurry. I want to put my talents to work. Bight, baby?" Dud patted the round buttocks again, got an affectionate nod for his efforts.
"Okay, okay," Mains shot back. "Do what the real-estate man says-get a lot while you're young. I'll ration it. Hell, you make it sound as if we were stranded on a deserted island. Didn't anyone ever tell you too much dessert can make you sick?"
"Sure," Dud answered before rolling over on his side. "But I'd rather get sick from too much dessert than starve to death."
Dud embraced the blonde, ran his hands over her sweatered breasts with an exaggerated sweep.
Dave looked down at Sally. Her thoughts seemed to run in the same direction as Dud's. Her hand moved to rest warmly on Dave's upper thigh.
The heat of the hand burned through Dave's black pants. He damned the kids upstairs, damned Rich Taylor. The kids in the bedroom, if they had heard the warning blast of music, were probably afraid to come down. What the hell kept Taylor here? What had brought him here tonight?
Sally's fingers moved on Dave's thigh.
Dave wiped the back of his hand over his face. The beer and the heat in his blood were getting to him.
"What gives with Taylor?" Dave asked Frank. "What's he going to teach?"
"Taylor's the new biology chief. The town wants big names on the faculty. Youth leaders. Guys we kids will follow. Hey-biology. Maybe we could teach him."
Frank rolled his eyes up toward the bedroom.
"Where did you find out about him?" Dave wanted to know.
"Miller told me. And Miller isn't too keen about Taylor's being here. It seems Taylor was picked for some other reasons, too, than for being a big name."
"What's the second one?"
"I don't know." Frank frowned. "Neither does Miller. It's a bugging land of thing. But when we find out well handle it."
Dave found himself realizing more and more the importance of being in the right crowd, a mob close to a teacher. Hell, if faculty policy and secrets were available to a guy-there might be ways to use inside dope. Say, around exam time? His scholarship chances might be enhanced.
Frank climbed to his feet, pushed his shirt back into his pants. The voices in the kitchen had grown louder. Dud took his hand from the blonde's buttocks.
Taylor entered the room first, followed closely by Miller. Both men continued to the front door. Taylor waved to indicate he was leaving.
Voices murmured in the foyer. The door opened, closed. Miller returned to the living room, his handsome face fixed in thought.
"Something wrong, Bill?" Frank Mains asked.
"Old Rich," Bill answered with a frown. "There was no bigger hell-raiser in college than Rich. He could drink me under the table five nights out of seven. Mention a party and he was ready two days ahead of time. He was the live-for-today boy if ever I saw one."
"So?" Frank went to the window, raised the shade an inch, looked out. "So he's gone stiff on me. Real stiff."
"In what way?" Frank peered out the window. Rich Taylor was just driving away from the curb in a beat-up Chevy.
"Lace all around him. He frowns on students' drinking beer. Isn't that a laugh?"
"Yeah." Frank turned, his square jaw extended. "To hell with the jerk. He had his fun and now the rest of the world is supposed to drop dead. All together now-to hell with the jerk."
Miller motioned for silence, rubbed his chin, gazed down at Dud, who was undisturbed by the conversation. The quarterback was too busy exploring as much of the blond junior's anatomy as was permissible in the living room.
"Maybe we'd better call it a night," Miller said. "I'm bushed. Also, I've got a little thinking to do." Frank forced a grin.
"Maybe you played on the college team too long with Taylor. You sound as if some of the lace rubbed off on you tonight."
"What do you mean?"
The ironic grin stayed on Frank's aggressive face. He let his alert eyes slide over to where Sally was sitting next to Dave.
"You had your fun early in the game. Now you expect the rest of the room to drop dead. Is that it?"
"Not exactly."
"What is it-exactly?" Frank pushed.
Miller's grin abruptly matched Frank's. "Nothing," he said quickly. "To hell with Taylor."
Dud, from his position on the floor, echoed Miller.
"To hell with Taylor," the quarterback said.
Frank reached down, took the blonde by the arm, lifted her to her feet, drew her away from Dud.
Standing up, she seemed mature for her age. Her large breasts, which had been pressed against the rug, expanded as if grateful for the freedom. She pressed her hands tightly to her narrow waist and the full curve of her hips became accentuated. Their flare tapered to tempting thighs, calves, ankles.
"What in hell do you think you're doing?" Dud exploded to his feet.
"I'm not doing a thing," Frank answered easily. "It's what I intend doing that's important. Go back to sleep."
Frank put a capable hand over the blonde's breast.
"You and me, chick. Duddy boy got your engine running but I'm the guy who can press down on the accelerator and supply the mileage."
Dud flexed his heavy biceps.
"Get your paws off my girl."
"Your girl just stopped being your girl," Frank said. He balanced lightly on the balls of his feet. "You're forgetting a few serious items, Duddy boy. When we play football you call the signals and I follow instructions like a good little boy. When we play girls I call my own signals. If you're smart you'll realize it's your turn to be a good little boy."
"You sound real tough."
Frank made a face. "I am tough."
"Yeah? Where do you bury your dead? I haven't seen many corpses around lately."
"I don't bury them," Frank said, taking the girl by the arm. "I stick a bone in their mouths and let a dog drag them away."
Frank turned his back on Dud. He led the blonde to the doorway leading to the stairs.
"First we kick those sophs out of bed. It's time they went home. Then I'll show you some real driving."
"Wait a minute," Dud protested to the girl in exasperation. "Are you going upstairs with him instead of me?"
The blonde smiled at him.
She said nicely, "You lost the touch somewhere between halves. I need a change. Your hands were getting heavy."
Dave sat quietly. Sally's hand was still resting on his thigh. For a while he had barely been aware of it.
During the past moments, Dave mused, his education had been broadened tremendously. For one thing, Frank had grown six inches taller in stature. The way he had handled Miller-then Dud. Yes, Frank Mains was a good man to know, a fine friend to have.
Frank's background was hazy as far as Dave was concerned. Dave knew the halfback came from a poor section of town where the buildings were sadly neglected and the rentals low. And, now that he thought about it, Frank always wore the same sports coat, the same pair of pants. His clothing was neat but showed use. Frank evidently had to get by on limited funds.
The fact tied him closer to Dave. Buck Myers with his flashy convertible, Dud Ames and his great ability to call signals and good family backing, Bill Miller and his glory headlines-Frank could handle them all. Frank had something better than money or backing. Part of it had to be brains-the rest was some nonde-finable quality that might be called leadership.
After Frank disappeared in the hallway, taking the blonde with him, Dave returned his attention to Sally. She had retrieved the two cans of beer from under the chair. Dave offered to take them from her but she shook her raven hair.
"Empty. There was only a drop in them."
She got up, walked to the kitchen with the empties. Miller trailed her. Dave waited. Sally and Miller returned from the kitchen minutes later. Miller went directly to the flight of stairs.
Sally halted in front of Dave.
"Don't wait around for me, lover," she said. "I may be a little late."
Dave frowned. "Where are you going?"
Sally lifted her eyes toward the ceiling.
"Bill is a little peeved at the way Frank stood up to him in front of the kids. I'm going upstairs to comfort him."
"Frank is up there."
"Another bedroom, silly. Bill has several."
"You're going to bed with Miller?"
"Of course, silly." She peered at him with an expression tinged with humor. "Don't act so peeved. There are other girls here-pick one before they are all taken. Be smart, Dave."
Dave could picture Miller running his hands over Sally's body. The breasts Dave had known would swell again-under Miller's touch.
Dave grew angry.
"Forget Miller. Let's keep it you and me. I'll make you forget Bill Miller ever existed."
Sally brushed at her raven hair, a thoughtful wrinkle creasing her otherwise smooth forehead.
"I really think you might be able to do just that, Dave. A little more experience and I'm sure you'd be able to make me forget him-if I wanted to forget him. But you're off the beam right now. Miller needs me-and we all need him. Steadies are for squares. There's time to go steady when you're married. There is a long life ahead of us all. This is fun time. We had fun, didn't we? You and I? When you pout-you look stuffed." Sally laughed.
Dave forced a bland expression. Anger seethed in him. He was burning with envy.
"Okay," he snapped. "Go sleep with Miller if that is the way you want it. I'll find somebody to keep me warm."
The words came out roughly. Dave was sorry as soon as he had said them. They made him sound like a kid who would find another game if he could not pitch in this one.
Sally smiled, showing teeth. The smile was neither friendly nor unfriendly. She patted Dave intimately.
"Don't let it go to waste, Dave. You've got a long way to go. Circulate. Maybe you can teach me a few new tricks by the time our next session comes around."
Dave watched the firm sway of her hips as she climbed the stairs. Some part of him wanted to call after her. The effort would be wasted, he knew.
The music was still playing. Other couples were paired off, waiting for their turn, dancing or just horsing around. All the girls seemed taken. He could move in, start an argument, maybe a fight.
None of the girls was worth the effort.
Dave wandered into the empty kitchen. He drank a few beers. Occasionally he glanced at the white ceiling as if he could see through the plaster and rafters. He imagined he could hear the bed moving. And his flesh burned where Sally had petted him.
Finally he could stand it no longer. He finished off the can he was holding and went out into the cool night air.
All right, he thought. So Miller was up there with her. There would be another session, another time for him and Sally. Eventually he would freeze Miller out-make Sally want only him.
What he needed now was patience.
CHAPTER FOUR
DAVE COULD not sleep. Each tick of the clock on the dresser was like a hammer hitting an anvil. Was Sally so important-really? What about the rest of the girls in Miller's inner circle? Maybe some of them were more talented than Sally. The blonde Frank had taken from Dud? How was he to know-he had yet to try them.
Where were the night sounds? Were all the cats and dogs in the neighborhood dead tonight? There were no barks, no feline mating yowls.
Dave twisted on his side, banged his pillow into a ball. He felt alert. All that beer should have gotten to him. It should have made him sleepy. His bedside clock was noisy.
Patience. Tick, tick. Next time. Tick, tick. Thought and lonely sound running alternately through his head.
He had been patient with Jeanie. A year of going steady. All he had to show for it were a few caresses and yards of conversation. Like in the drive-in last week. Three solid hours, just the two of them in the car. He'd copped an occasional feel under her sweater but the bra had been in the way. The sight of Sally standing nude by the lamp leaped so vividly into his mind that he felt he could almost reach out and touch her again.
Everything was different with Jeanie. Bringing her beauty back to mind took some effort.
Her hair, when touched by sunlight, had a way of turning into a silken, scarlet mass. The deep red made a striking combination with her green eyes. Jeanie's eyes were the only ones he knew that really smiled. Perhaps the green, laughing eyes were what had first attracted Dave to her. Surely it had not been her body-he had yet to see her naked. And she did not look voluptuous, dressed. Enticing though, in a nice way. Maybe he was not being entirely fair to Jeanie. She might have something Sally's ripe fullness could never match.
Buck Myers thought so.
Buck Myers-there was a jerk. The guy owned a big red convertible and an eagerness to give the back seat as much of a workout as the front. There was even a teacher in school who had shared both seats, Dave had heard.
Buck was never pinched for a dollar. His old man owned the largest hardware store in town. Lately Buck had been slipping out a few remarks about Jeanie-how a big car and a few drinks would probably make it easy for him to score. The latest crack had come this very afternoon during practice.
Buck had looked up at the stands where Jeanie had been sitting.
'Is that your dame up there?"
Dave had not answered.
"I was thinking of how her hair matched the color of my car."
Myers had often and openly contemplated making a play for Jeanie. The possibility worried Dave.
"Don't waste your time," he had said today. "Jeanie doesn't go for deadwood."
"Deadwood?" Myers had laughed. "Show me a dame who doesn't dream of riding in a convertible with the wind blowing through her hair and I'll show you dead-wood. I don't think that that redhead is dead, not from where I'm standing."
"Knock it off. Stick to your tramps. Jeanie is out of your class."
"What if I don't take your advice?"
"I'll take you apart."
Dave twisted on the bed as the scene came back to him. That afternoon he had been protecting Jeanie because she was not the type to make out with a guy in the back seat of a car. Now he was irritated with her for the very same reason. He was confused.
Dave tried blanking both girls out of his mind by thinking of his past, present and future. The first two years of high school had been wasted as far as planning for the future was concerned. His father had been alive then-a man who looked ahead as little as possible. Then the accident that had killed the old man. His car had spun over a sheer roadside drop after being side-swiped by a band of crazy jerks in a hotrod. Overnight Dave's future became his own sole concern. Unlike his father, he had faced it, hoping to find a beckoning light, His father had left him little to plan with. There had been a small insurance policy, the house. Dave had become lost as an individual during the bewildering, hectic weeks following the accident. He had wandered in a daze, hardly aware of his existence.
After the shock had worn off, Dave had investigated scholarships. His marks were fair-not high enough to warrant special grants. Football was his best springboard to college. He had played a solid, uninspired game. In his third year he had decided to become good and had caught Hartman's eye. He had saved a game or two, won others. He had confided his scholarship hopes to Hartman, who had encouraged them.
Now was the payoff year. He would have to shine as a senior to catch a talent scout's eye. The talk he had heard from Frank and Miller tonight disturbed him again.
At the thought of Miller Dave stiffened on the bed. Was Miller still stretched out in bed beside Sally? No, he thought. Surely the love-making would be over by now. It had to be. It was four in the morning and a man Miller's age could not last this long-or could he? He still looked like an athlete.
Dave climbed out of bed. He got a drink of water from the bathroom, then stood at the window with the cool night air on his face.
Both girls were again in the bedroom with him. It was all mental, of course. But they would not leave him alone. First Jeanie would parade before his mind with her flaming red hair. Then he would see Sally's midnight-black tresses, carelessly brushed, contrasting sharply with the soft flesh tones.
Was he wrong in getting emotionally involved with Sally? The strong feeling inside him had to be jealousy. How could he feel jealous of a girl he knew only because she was easy-sexually accessible to boys and men? He could understand his feeling of ownership toward Jeanie-there was their year of going together. But Sally-he had possessed Sally and she had put a period to the possessiveness. She had wanted an end to it-until the next brief time.
Of one thing he was sure-his life had been changed by tonight. Perhaps nothing in his fife had ever been as it had seemed to be. Were all girls different when naked from what they were with their clothes on? Was Hartman planning, this year, to use Dave to save his games while running Buck Myers in the glory spots-to protect his-Hartman's-job?
Some answers he meant to find out fast. First, Jeanie. He would make her put out-or let Buck try his luck. Sally and Miller's cram sessions would make up for his loss of Jeanie-if he lost. Sally had said the other girls in the group were available. He would find more than enough to keep him sex-happy.
And Miller would help him with Hartman.
Dave returned to his room, climbed back into bed. He rolled to he on his side and closed his eyes. The blonde who had gone upstairs with Frank. She was really stacked. Perhaps he would make a play for her at the next session. He would have to sound out Frank about her. Frank was his pal now.
It was strange that the beer had not affected him. He had drunk more than he was used to. Perhaps he had changed there, too.
Dave smiled. It had been a big night for him, a real big night. He finally felt himself drifting off to sleep. The last thing he remembered was that Miller treated his student friends as equals. Letting the teacher rub his hands over Sally's flesh once in a while might turn out to be a small price to pay for what he was learning.
CHAPTER FIVE
RICH TAYLOR saw the shade move in the window of Miller's house. The kids were watching him leave. He had made some sort of impression-good or bad, only time would tell.
His dropping in on Bill had been a shock for both men. He himself had been set back most by the meeting. Miller had changed from what he had been in his college days. His face now indicated heavy drinking to someone as familiar with Bill as Rich. And the kids in there-what was Bill doing to them? It was a shame those kids in there could not have seen the younger Miller, when the man was in condition. Then they would have had an example to follow instead of a name.
Rich drove away from the curb. The stench of beer in Miller's house seemed to stay with him. And those kids had been obviously paired off for some game of-musical beds? What in the name of heaven was Miller thinking of-didn't the man know he was walking on the edge of a sharp knife? And that brief conversation in the kitchen when the welcome back-slapping had ended and Rich had questioned Miller on the beer and the kids.
"Let them have a little fun," Miller had said. "They have to grow up sometime. Let 'em enjoy the process. Life's grim enough later. And if they bunch up on the streets right now, someone complains. They're all at the cramped-up stage-they have to have a vent for their emotions. A beer or two here is much better than hanging around a stinking bar, isn't it?"
Rich had been afraid to answer. Had he made a mistake? Should he have straightened Miller out then and there?
He found his thoughts wandering back to happier days, when he and Miller had been such a hot-shot combination on the football field.
Miller had always been sure of himself, totally confident. The magic had managed to rub off on the rest of the team. There had been that undefeated season when Rich and Miller had set the school record for number of completions-the memory was always good.
Both had gone their separate ways after graduation-Rich to teach at a private school for retarded children, Miller to the pro ranks. Rich had never regretted passing up the pros. He had been happy with his work until the school had suddenly closed down for lack of funds.
Miller had quit the professional team before the start of his third season. His letter to Rich at the time had indicated Miller had been suffering from impatience. He had been a man in a hurry, a guy with too much life in him to waste butting his head against hard helmets. He had wanted wider horizons, fewer restrictions.
Miller's decision had been a poor one. He had cashed in on his fame too soon-before it had been great enough or he himself old enough for the goals he had envisioned. He had found himself in demand at this plush suburban high school and had probably envisioned himself as making good business and social contacts, becoming a leader of youth-later, perhaps, a leader in the community. He had made some progress-but had also created enemies. One reason Rich had been invited to instruct at the same high school had been that he was somehow to combat the damage Miller was doing.
His briefing by Chapman, the school's principal, had somewhat prepared Rich for the atmosphere he had found in Miller's house. But Rich had been shocked when he had actually seen what was happening.
Chapman had hired Rich. Chapman, through the constant urging of the school board, had also hired Miller. Rich was now supposed to do the job Miller had failed to do-rally the students around him so the faculty could exert more influence over the undergraduates. Vandalism and school dropouts were on the increase. Discipline was lax. Chapman was becoming a frightened man. He was fearful of putting pressure on Miller because of possible scandal. The principal was too old to try to become close to the students. Teachers-other than Miller-were mere underlings to many wealth-spoiled students. Their role as educators was regarded with cynicism by less privileged kids.
Chapman desperately wanted a teacher on his staff whom the students would look up to and whose leadership they would follow. Miller had the reputation and the children were following him, but he was leading them in the wrong direction.
Chapman had given Rich a list of problem-youth hangouts. Miller's home would have to be handled discreetly-he had friends among the community's influential citizens, many of whom swore by his athletic reputation and had no inkling of his actual activities. But there was a gin mill not too far from the town. Many kids congregated there. So did some adults who preyed on youngsters. According to Chapman, the habitues ranged from sophomores to graduates and dropouts-who had no other place to go and found easy pickings among the impressionable younger girls, avid for "adventure."
Rich inspected his watch. His permanent quarters would not be available for a few days. He had made reservations at a hotel to carry him over until then. He had not yet checked in-but decided he had time further to reconnoiter what was to be his arena of action before he did. He decided to go directly to the gin mill Chapman had mentioned.
He had no difficulty locating the hangout. A large red neon sign spelled out its name. A number of late-model cars were parked outside on the gravel.
A poster made of white cardboard announced teenage entertainment three nights a week. Next to the f poster was a blow-up of a wild-haired, right-clothed guitar group.
Tonight's entertainment consisted of a jukebox. The multicolored fixture was vibrating with pounding music, wailing vocals. Rich did not recognize the number. In the center of the small dance floor a boy and girl in their early teens were standing a few feet apart, going through gyrations that were more sensuous and sexually suggestive than if they had been touching.
The place was decorated in a pale green. Booths lined three of the sea-foam walls, intimate hiding places for a dozen or so couples who were ignoring the jukebox. The lighting was spotty and dim, meant to conceal more than it revealed.
Rich's entrance caused a little stir. A small group got up and left by the side door which was to the rear of the tavern. A few kids eyed him with expressionless interest as an adult intruder. Others paid no attention.
He walked to the bar. If ever there was a breeding place for delinquency, this place was it. It reeked of youth, sweat, booze and unwashed utensils. Many of the kids seemed to be drinking a form of coke-the under-age ones, Rich surmised. The cokes were probably spiked.
A few boys, obviously of drinking age, sat at the bar, beers before them.
Rich ordered a beer, sat nursing it as more dancers began using the small dance floor. A boy with short-cropped hair moved out to the hardwood all by himself. He was carrying a tablecloth wrapped around a broom. He thrust the make-believe female out in front of him and began dancing. Back at the booth he had left, his companions were having a good laugh.
Rich smiled. The joke seemed to be on one of the girls in the booth. She seemed to be deriving as much happy hysteria out of it as her companions. This particular group seemed intent only on letting off some steam. For them, this seemed the place to do it. They seemed bent on no deviltry. According to Chapman, the community had no organized youth center for kids like these.
Rich glanced at his watch again. He got up and threaded his way toward the phone booth. A couple with well-oiled hips almost knocked him down with their swinging buttocks.
He slid his big frame into the booth and shut the door to kill the pounding sound of the jukebox. He dialed his hotel, was told that his reservation was being held. The management was, however, closing shop for the day in thirty minutes. And while the night staff could accommodate him, it might be convenient all around if he checked in within thirty minutes. Rich assured the man he would do his best.
On the way back to the bar, Rich noticed a girl sitting alone in a booth. She was no school kid. She seemed in her middle twenties, was pretty, with hair the color of chestnuts-or reddish brown. The dim light made an exact determination of color values impossible. A light summer jacket was folded on the seat beside her. It matched the beige and aqua dress she was wearing. She was not drinking. Her slim fingers toyed with a cup of coffee on the table before her.
Rich continued to the bar and finished his beer. It seemed to him that the crowd in the place was growing more boisterous. His telephone call had not gone unnoticed. Several tough, older boys were eyeing him with open suspicion. So was the bartender.
Rich paid for his drink, left a tip, went outside.
He found his sedan was gone.
His first reaction was disbelief. He was holding the keys to the sedan in his hand.
But his car was no longer parked where he had left it-nor was the green hotrod he remembered as having been beside it in evidence.
He turned on his heel, went back into the gin mill. He walked a straight line to the jukebox, shouldering aside kids who happened to be in his way. He reached a long arm down behind the instrument of torture and pulled the plug from the wall.
Silence became a tight rubber band binding together the staring group of teen-agers.
Rich realized he was facing hostility different from any he had known. These kids were really too young to hate-their anger was unformed, nonobjective ... its expression could take any form, was wholly unpredictable.
"Someone took my car," Rich announced in a flat voice. "I think the one who took it was in here a few minutes ago. I can call the police. I'd rather not. I'll have another beer at the bar. It'll take me fifteen minutes to finish it. When I leave I expect to find my car parked where it was. It's your ball, kids."
He went to the bar. The bartender served him after a moment's hesitation. A mild rumble took place near the jukebox. The sound came on again. It was softer than before.
A hand touched Rich on the shoulder.
"You talk tough, mister. Are you saying someone here stole your car?"
Rich inspected the mature kid standing in front of him. The boy was rangy, big-boned, muscular. His blond hair vyas cut short but he affected long sideburns. His red sports shirt, open at the neck, was straining at the seams across a wide chest, broad shoulders.
"No one here took my car," Rich said. "That is obvious. The car was taken, I think, by someone who was in here. You used the word 'stolen'-I didn't. I don't think the car is stolen. And I'm not asking for names. I'm asking for help in getting my car back."
The boy was about twenty, Rich judged, older than most of the kids here. He was probably out of school, still hanging on, getting his kicks from being bigger and stronger than the others-hence, a leader.
"Stolen, taken-what's the difference? We don't care for your attitude, daddio."
"We?"
Rich glanced down the length of the bar. Younger kids were grouped there loosely, waiting.
The leader moved to face Rich squarely. His young face was hard.
"Apologize, dad. We all want to hear it."
Rich stared at him stonily. "Stop playing kid games," he said. "I want my car. Some of you are in here having good clean fun. I don't want the whole gang mixed up in something most of you had nothing to do with. One or two of you can help the situation by seeing that my car is returned. Believe me, it's the only way out. If I call the police everyone will be in the station before the night is out. Your parents will become involved. Those who are innocent will be embarrassed at home and possibly at school. We can keep this all nice and quiet-if you cooperate."
"What are you, dad-a lawyer?"
"A teacher," Rich replied.
"A teacher? We might have known. Hey, gang?"
A murmur backed him up. Blondie stepped back a pace, inspected Rich from head to toe.
"A real live teacher. A rat-fink if I ever saw one. We don't need teachers here, do we, gang? Here we've got all the answers."
Rich had no doubts concerning his ability to handle the strutting character standing in front of him. But violence was not what he wanted. A fight would make his position more difficult later. It would put him on the young bully's level.
He made a production of looking at his watch.
"Precious minutes are flying by," he said. "All my belongings are in that car. Every suit, every shirt. I have a hotel room waiting for me-and now I find I'm growing tired."
He moved with deceptively casual ease, reached out and locked big fingers around the boy's arm. To observers the gesture seemed firm but friendly. Only the boy felt the strength of Rich's grip.
Rich's voice remained without rancor. "Buy you a coke while we wait. The rest of you get a move on. You've got five minutes. By then you should have my car here."
A few feet shuffled on the flooring. Eyes drifted from one to another. A young girl in her early teens made the first move. A boy the same age joined her. Several others picked up the pattern, started out of the place.
Motors roared to life. A girl wearing a plaid skirt below a gray sweater peered back through the glass door, signaled to Rich's companion. When the last car drove away Rich released the pressure hold he had been using on their leader's arm.
Rich asked the boy, "Or would you like a man-sized drink?"
They stared at each other-man and youth.
The big kid shrugged. "I'm no boozer." He nodded to the bartender. "A coke's fine." A grudging uncertainty lurked behind the hard stare he turned back to Rich. "So you're smooth-and tough. Teacher. But you ain't teaching-you're still learning. Maybe, for a teacher, you can learn fast. You think those kids'll get your car back?"
The coke arrived. The boy's ham-like fist closed around the glass. He eyed Rich steadily.
Rich nodded. "They need you, huh? Your girl-the one in the plaid skirt-she's waiting for you outside. Okay, don't keep her waiting. Drink up." He grinned suddenly. "Maybe well talk later."
"Sure, teach."
The boy gulped down the coke, neither hurrying nor wasting time. He strolled to the door and out.
The bartender was rubbing his hands over his apron.
"The kid who just left," Rich asked. "What is his name?"
"Mister, you're asking for trouble here. Why don't you get out and wait? Maybe you'll get your car."
"You know damned well I'll get it. And I'll wait here. I might want to use the phone again."
The bartender shifted uneasily. "What do you want from me? And what was that phone call you made?"
"I phoned my hotel-not the cops to report you for selling booze to minors. Now I want the name of the kid I was talking to."
The bartender turned his back to Rich, began sorting whiskey bottles behind the bar.
"Forget it, mister. You can't win this one."
"I didn't know I was in a fight."
"You will be. Just keep sticking your nose in. Those kidsll break it. They can be like a pack of wolves if they want to be. You wouldn't stand a chance. Not in this town. A lot of the parents carry weight."
"They didn't look that rough to me. Most of them just seemed out for a good time. A few might be trouble-makers. You might watch what you sell them-and let me figure out my own chances. Put a head on this beer."
The man behind the bar drew a fresh beer, set the glass in front of Rich. He wiped his hands on his soiled apron.
"I watch what I sell," the man said. "Some kids bring their own booze. But you're right-not all those kids are bad. The ones that are can be real mean. I don't ask for trouble. Don't you, either-if you figure on handling them in school. Teachers generally stay out of here. If you leave the kids alone after classes, they leave you alone."
Rich's smile held no humor. "They didn't leave my car alone tonight. With somebody else, what they did could have been serious. Another man might have called the police."
"Maybe you should have." The bartender leaned on the bar. "I don't mind cops in here. You want to be a hero, be one. Maybe you've got nothing to lose by being tough. My life's savings are invested here. Do you think I want to see the place wrecked? You could have started a rumble a while back. Maybe next time you will. I'd like you to stay away from now on. Nothing personal."
Rich gazed at the man. "I'm making no promises." He put out his cigarette, finished his beer, slid some change over the bar. "I'll go along with your not wanting your place wrecked. Give me the name of the kid I had words with. I won't crowd him."
The bartender shook his head. "Sorry."
Rich climbed off his stool. "The car should be back by now. If it isn't, I'll report it stolen. And then I'll be seeing you."
As he started out of the place he heard a woman's voice say softly, "The boy's name is Dike Martin."
The voice came from the girl with the chestnut hair.
Her booth was near the bar. She evidently had been listening. Rich went to her.
She smiled pleasantly at him. "Dike Martin is a dropout. He's having a hard time. He quit school a few years ago. I'm Peg DeWitt."
"Rich Taylor. New teacher at the high school."
"I heard you were joining us. I teach, too. Social studies. I stop here for coffee sometimes-and to watch the kids. They've grown used to me. I actually enjoy their music. No one bothers me."
"Do you live near here?"
"A few blocks away. Pete-the bartender-is right, you know. Dike could have the tavern wrecked."
"You must spend a lot of time in here to be so well informed."
Tiny crinkles appeared beside each of her eyes. "Call it research. Social studies-remember? I agree with you-I think one of the kids could have taken your car. I also think they did it as a prank-that the car's not stolen. And that you handled a difficult situation well."
Rich offered Peg a cigarette. He held his lighter for her, found himself absorbed in the way the tiny flame cast miniature shadows over her oval face. Her face had a liveliness-never for an instant did her mood seem to settle.
"Are you going to inform the police of your loss if your car's not back when you go out?"
"Are you concerned?"
"Curious."
"There won't be a need for the police," Rich said. "My car will be waiting for me."
Her smile put to work every muscle and plane of her face. She stood up.
"This I must see. You sound so positive. Do you mind if I come with you?"
"Not at all."
She left coins on the table. Rich took her arm. Peg glanced down at his big hand.
"Strong, yet gentle. I'll bet you let Dike feel both qualities when you touched him. That was a ticklish moment. If you'd done it wrong-this place would be a shambles. He's not unintelligent, you know. Or insensitive."
"Let's find out."
He led her out. The night was silent, black. Few stars were out. A street lamp was barely visible through the heavy foliage of a maple near it.
Rich's car was not in sight.
Peg asked him, "Well?"
"They seem to be stretching the joke a little," he said grimly. "Let's walk a bit. Game?"
"Sure. Which way?"
"I was going to ask you. You know the town. And you've been doing research on the kids."
She pointed. "All right. Let's try that direction."
And, as they started to walk: "You're being quite patient."
"I hope you consider it a virtue." This time she said it. "Let's find out." He still held her arm and sensed a small tension in her movements.
"Afraid?" Rich peered at her.
"Let's say I'm wary. Some of these kids can be full of surprises. But I'm still also curious."
"Would Dike Martin harm you?"
"I wasn't thinking of Martin," Peg said in the semi-darkness. "Or harm to myself. I was thinking of you."
"Then, relax." Rich laughed. "I can be full of surprises, too."
Peg's high heels tapped the pavement, their sound intensified by the pervading silence. She shivered a little, although the night was not cold. Winter was just around the corner-but for the moment Indian summer was giving this corner of the world a reprieve.
"You're going to teach biology, I know," Peg said. "Anything else?"
"Why do you ask?"
"You've made your name in another area. Football."
"Oh, that. Yes, I suppose I have a special assignment of sorts. Looking in at the kids' hangout tonight was a part of that. No telling yet what'll come of it. I'll do my best with biology."
"Do you have a special interest in kids-or just want to teach?"
"I guess you could call my interest special. I've worked with retarded children. This will be different. How do you think I'll make out here?"
"Oh, no, you don't," Peg answered with mock fright. "Don't put the burden of being a seeress on me. I'll say this-you seem capable. Of what, I don't know."
Rich looked at her. "Am I hard to figure?"
'Isn't everybody? Even Dike Martin?" she shivered again. "I never actually felt uneasy about him before."
"How long have you been teaching in this school system?"
"Five years. I was born a few miles from here. In the beginning it seemed wonderful to come back home to teach. Now I'm sorry I didn't try New Mexico or some place down South. Life is passing by and I'm not seeing much of it."
"Steady boy friend?"
"No. The field is limited. I haven't met a man who interests me."
"Until now?"
They both laughed. Their voices echoed down the long, dark street. Rich recognized his car when they were a block away from it. He said nothing until he stopped beside the empty vehicle.
"You picked the right direction," he told Peg.
"Your car?"
Rich nodded with satisfaction. "It seems I won."
He peered inside. His clothes were still hanging where he had placed them on the slender rod stretched above the back seat. Nothing had been disturbed. He reached for the door handle.
A voice called from the darkness, "Hi, dad."
Rich froze with his hand still holding the latch. Four silent figures had moved in quietly to form a box of living shadows around himself and Peg.
Rich was not entirely unprepared for a confrontation. He had won no victory over Dike at the bar. But he realized abruptly that the kids' having forced him to look for his car might be more than the mere prolongation of a joke.
He took quick stock of his surroundings. Two vacant lots occupied the space directly across the street from where he, Peg and the kids were standing. A nearby garage with a dozen second-hand cars parked to one side of it was conveniently deserted. The nearest light was on a metal pole thirty-odd feet away. Its yellow glow did little to illuminate the area.
"What do you want?" Rich peered at the form directly in front of him.
The form laughed. Not in fun. The sound suggested dead branches rubbing together, squeaking, crackling.
"You, friend. The lady is a surprise we hadn't counted on. Maybe we'll have her for dessert."
Rich said quietly, "Don't do anything foolish. You've had your fun. The car is back and nothing has been harmed."
Peg moved past Rich to face the kids' spokesman.
"Rich is talking sense," she said with no trace of fear. "You're not brats out playing trick or treat. You're pretty grown-up, or expect to be soon. You've played your joke. Now call it off."
There was a slight stir in the group.
A nice voice said, "Hey, that's Miss DeWitt. Knock it off, you guys. She's okay. A regular joe."
The shadow nearest Rich shifted from one foot to the other.
"I know."
"Then let's get out of here. I'm not hurting Miss DeWitt."
The shadows melted away and became part of the darkness. Rich took out a cigarette. The light from his lighter cast an orange glow on Peg's face. It was a pretty face-at this moment it wore an expression he would not have minded seeing over and over again for the rest of his life.
"You weren't frightened?" he asked.
"Was I supposed to be?" She looked up at him-and, oddly, she seemed beyond reach of fear or harm.
"No," he said with half a grin. "I suppose not."
"Would you drop me off at my car?" she asked. "It's parked back where we came from."
"My pleasure."
He held the door for her, then rounded the car to get in on the driver s side. Neither he nor Peg spoke during the brief ride back to the gin mill. But Rich sensed he had found a coworker and ally in the assignment given him by Chapman.
Peg's car was a late model. They were upon it much too soon to please Rich.
"Will I see you again?"
Her eyes did a little dance over his rugged face. "Why do you want to?"
"Maybe you'll save my life another time."
She laughed. "It just might be worth saving. I think you'll do some good around here." She took a pen from her purse, scribbled down a phone number. "I'm home most any time."
Rich shoved the piece of paper in his pocket without looking at it.
"As soon as I get settled," he said, "you'll hear from me.
She left his car, got into her own.
"You got off to a rough start, Rich. You'll find things leveling off. The town has its faults. So do the kids-some of them. But mostly they all want to five a little."
She drove away.
He did not go directly to his room. The night staff would have to handle his arrival at the hotel. He drove around the community, past shadowy, high-income housing. Even at this late hour he counted a number of swimming pools and three-car garages. Most of the homes were large, sprawling. Blue-stone exteriors were plentiful-as were winding stone walls guarding the privacy of many residents.
Money spoiled adults as well as kids. Walls that kept strangers out also kept inmates in-exclusiveness often bred prejudice, resentments, stagnation, decay. Money to burn did not always mean the most judicious use of money.
Chapman had put much emphasis on one word-prestige. It was worshiped here. There was prestige in having a former All-American and pro-football star on the faculty. Hartman, the football coach, was already a leftover, whether he knew it or not. He catered to the sons of the rich to hold his job and so far his teams had been moderately lucky. But luck never lasted-and one day the clamor would go up for a name coach.
Bill Miller?
Rich Taylor?
Or some even brighter name?
There was even some doubt as to Chapman's future. The board had sounded him out on the possibility of securing a nationally known administrator not too long ago. The principal managed to file the suggestion-but he knew the question would come up again in the near future.
As he drove along, recalling Chapman's words, Rich felt a twinge of jealousy. Money had been a scarce commodity in his life. Looking now at these spacious, well-lighted estates with their sprawling lawns and luxurious architecture, he realized only too well he would never reach such luxuries on a teacher's salary.
He smiled at his thoughts. Moderate envy was probably a sign of mental health. To give up principles-or a job he liked to do-for material gain could lead to mental illness.
CHAPTER SIX
ANOTHER CRAM session. Frank Mains phoned Dave.
Dave said, "Sounds great. Real great."
He could not keep the excitement out of his voice.
"You made out big with Sally," Frank said. "But let me give you a tip-cool it a little, especially downstairs. Mix it, man. Miller's been spending a lot of time giving her advanced education, if you catch me. She figures herself pretty high right now. She could blow up in your face if you make like owning her. She told me to pass the word. Let her call the plays. Act like you own the little ole world. That's the way Sally likes it. Her kind of kicks." Frank paused, laughed. "It's all breeze to me. But I'm passing it on."
"Thanks, Frank."
Dave understood. He had spent many hours evaluating Sally's attitude the last time. He thought he had the right combination to unlock Sally.
He shaved, put on a clean shirt. The town clock was booming eight when Frank greeted him at the door of Miller's home. They walked to the kitchen. Dave noticed that he and Frank were the first arrivals.
"Where are the others?"
"They'll be here." Frank opened the refrigerator and took out two cans of beer. He grinned at Dave. "Don't be eager, man. I'm here to host for Bill."
"You said eight." Dave was impatient to see Sally.
Frank popped the beers, stuck one in Dave's hand. The metal was cold and wet.
"I wanted you here early. We've got some talking to do-alone."
"Such as?" Dave tasted the beer. It was bitter. The first one always was.
"Such as Buck Myers, Sally, you, Miller and the babe you've been going with. What's her name-Jeanie?"
At the mention of Jeanie's name Dave stiffened.
"What about Jeanie?"
Frank went to the kitchen counter, hoisted himself up on it, sat, legs dangling.
"Have you been scoring with her?" Dave started an angry protest. Frank cut him off. "Don't get excited. I'm not that interested in your life. Buck Myers has been shooting off his mouth about how easy she is. I was wondering if there was any truth in it. If there is-and since you and Sally are hitting it off so well-I've been wondering if you wanted to bring Jeanie into the gang."
"Myers has a big mouth," Dave said. "He thinks all the chicks are eager to get on the back seat of his convertible. Jeanie hasn't had a thing to do with him. And you're way out in the bleachers if you think she'd be interested in our meetings. She thinks cram sessions are cram sessions-not bed bouts. It's going to stay that way. Got it?"
Frank drank some more beer before banging his heels against the counter.
"Okay. Don't get your dandruff all over the tile. I was just sounding you out. Since you don't seem to mind getting some on the side I could see no harm in asking."
"Where does Miller fit into the picture?" Dave asked, holding his can of beer out like a shield. "You mentioned his name in that list."
Frank shrugged. "Sally has been making out fairly steadily with Bill. Like I said, he makes her feel big and worldly. Now that you've taken a shine to her, Bill figures she can use a change of pace. He wants some variety and wants you to get yours with Sally. There was a slim chance you might be thinking of dropping Jeanie."
"Not on your life," Dave snapped.
But why was he so positive? He had considered dropping Jeanie. Giving her an ultimatum and if she refused him to hell with her. He knew where he stood with Sally-maybe some other chicks in this bunch. What was the big deal about Jeanie now?
Actually, Buck Myers or somebody else might have made the scene with Jeanie. He had no proof of her chastity. The fact that he had never gotten her to go all the way with him meant nothing. Maybe Myers had. Myers had slid home with a lot of girls who had left Dave on first base. Or had struck him out.
Frank leaped from the counter when the doorbell rang. He glanced at the kitchen clock.
"I'm not sticking my nose into your love life just for the hell of it," he said. "Play the game any way you want. When it comes to Buck Myers I'm all on your side. If you ever need help with him, let me know. I'll tear the mug apart for you. But don't sell Buck short. He scores with some dames for other reasons than that flashy red convertible. He's got a touch with women. Miss Ketchan goes glassy-eyed when he drops in on her classes. Hell, she'd grade him at the head of the class if he only saw her on the outside."
Dave lifted an eyebrow. "Miss Ketchan must be close to thirty."
He knew Buck had gotten into Miss Tanger. But she was just out of college-this was her first teaching assignment. But Miss Ketchan? This was something new.
"Buck can smell it when a woman has a fire going on in her furnace," Frank went on. "And he knows how to fan the blaze. Don't count him out with Jeanie."
The rest of the gang was filling the other room. Dave recognized Dud's voice among others.
Frank went into the living room. Dave stayed in the kitchen, deep in thought. Frank was right about Myers-it would be stupid to sell the guy short. Buck might have butterfingers when it came to hanging onto a football but digging fingers into preheated buttocks was an entirely different game. And if Jeanie ever felt the urge-and she was human-Myers would not fumble away a chance to run all the way to a score.
The thought of Myers with Jeanie irritated Dave. The more he assayed Buck's potentials, the angrier he became. He left the kitchen, strolled into the living room, carrying his fourth beer.
The setting was much the same as it had been the last time. The record player was throbbing away. Dud was again getting fixed with the blonde who had left him for Frank, earlier. Dud had a dogged streak.
Sally stood near the door with a new girl whom Dave did not recognize. Or pay attention to. The sight of Sally put a melting feeling in his loins.
She wore a black silk dress that looked as if an overambitious spider had collaborated in its manufacture. A webbing of lace extended across her chest, showing ample flesh.
Dave forced himself to remember Frank's warning.
Cool it, boy....
But how did a fly feel, trapped Li a sweet, silken web? Did it think of choices? Did it hope to escape-or fool the spider? Dave knew one difference. He did not want to escape. Sally's web of lace beamed his senses on Sally's promise.
He crossed the room to her. Sally's eyes did not laugh like Jeanie's. They were amused. Her smile was faintly mocking as she aimed her lush breasts directly at him. Her accuracy was deadly.
"This is Betty Cane," Sally said. "Betty is a senior. This is her first time here. Show her around, Davey."
Sally was getting kicks out of shoving another girl at him. She knew she could always retrieve him, or thought she did. Dave's blood grew hot with resentment. Betty was slender, less curved than Sally. Or, perhaps, more subtly curved. Dave made an effort to ignore Sally, concentrate on Betty. Betty's breasts did not strain her bodice. Betty's hips flared pleasingly, her skirt seemed to caress rather than cling to them. Her dress was of a loose-fitting material-it might be worth exploring what it chose to conceal.
Dave kept his mind from wandering back to Sally.
Let her call the plays....
He said, "You look great, Betty. We'll have a ball."
Sally snickered and Betty flushed.
"I hope so," she said a little shyly. "Sally told me about you-and I've seen you play football."
Dave gave Sally a glance. What and how much had Sally said about him?
Sally answered his unspoken question. "I bragged about you, Dave. I don't talk about guys who're drags."
Dave shifted his weight from one foot to the other. To how many people had Sally bragged? Frank seemed thoroughly informed.
Dave reached out, took Betty by the arm.
"You haven't seen the upstairs, have you? Sally said to show you around. Let me."
Betty hesitated, seemed to wait for advice from Sally. Sally laughed.
"Go ahead," she said. "Go with Dave. Everyone else seems busy. You won't be missed. Starting early will give you more time before the rush is on."
"I don't know." Betty glanced around the room. "Are you sure-I hardly know anyone here."
"You know Dave. By the time you come downstairs you'll know him better. That will do as a starter."
Betty blushed again and both girls laughed. Sally walked away.
Dave led Betty straight to the bedroom he had used with Sally. The last time he had been the stranger lost in its darkness. Tonight he knew every stick of furniture and where it was located-so vivid was his memory of the moment when Sally had turned on the light.
Betty stood quietly by his side after the door closed.
"Don't move for a few minutes," he said. "You might trip and hurt yourself."
"Where are you going?"
"No place. I'll be right in this room. There are a few things I want to do."
Dave moved quickly. The last time the window had been covered-now faint night glow came through it. He went to the bed and yanked off the spread. Standing on the bed, he draped it over the window. He remembered it there from the other night. He pulled back the covers. He found his way back to Betty in the pitch blackness.
He felt her shiver as he put an arm around her.
"Dave-what was the meaning of all that?"
Dave shrugged. She did not know of the no-light rule.
"Safety."
"Do we lock the door?"
"No one will come in."
"How long will we have up here?"
"Long enough," Dave promised.
"I feel a little funny. Don't we have to bring books and all that jazz some of the nights?"
"Once in a while," Dave answered. "We're supposed to be here to study." He had brought books the last time.
"This is cool. I've never used a room before. This is better than being married, isn't it?"
"Sure."
Betty turned in his arms, guided Dave's hand to her zipper. Dave's pulse began to throb. Evidently she was no stranger to sex. He ran the zipper down until it hit the stop above her slender buttocks.
She moved her shoulders. The box-like dress slid unhindered to the floor.
Once more Dave's hands found bare flesh. Betty had worn nothing under the dress-no wonder it had hidden her shape.
Tonight Dave's hands explored hungrily. He found small but deliciously molded, thrusting breasts, delicate contours of waist, hips, belly and thighs. The dress had been a camouflage. It had hung down in unformed lines with barely a hint that it had been covering a slender, well-proportioned girl. Dave remembered his brief curiosity earlier, when he had felt resentful toward Sally.
Betty's waist was no wider than his thigh. It curved in and flared sharply. Her skin was as smooth as Sally's, but covered firmer, more vibrant flesh. Naked, she felt taller against him than she was. She had long, slender legs.
"Aren't you undressing?" Betty asked.
The initial urge to discover left Dave. There was more to come. His fingers clawed at his clothes-then he felt Betty helping him. Soon her fingers were quick and warm on his nakedness.
She was upon him before he was prepared. She clasped him like a hungry starfish. Arms, legs, twisting torso. Sharp fingers dug into the heavy flesh of his shoulders as she pressed tightly against him.
They stood lost in silent frenzy. The heat of their contact raged through Dave. He grew flamingly aware of the difference, in love's preliminaries, between Betty and Sally. Betty employed no tricks of teasing. Her need was as direct as his had been with Sally-until Sally had coaxed him to a slower pace.
He held himself in now, knowing what he wanted.
"Hold it a minute, Betty."
He unwound her arms, disentangled her legs from his. He picked her up in his arms, held her to his broad chest. Her breathing became a tidal wave of sound and hot wind against his face. A spasm shook her as he carried her to the bed, savoring her lightness. He placed her down gently and, as he lowered himself to her, she was suddenly limp.
"Are you all right?"
She said nothing. Her breath raced. He ran his hand over her stomach and her flesh quivered.
At last her whisper came, soft and urgent, "Love me, Dave. Love me hard-love me terribly. Hurt me, make me scream-"
Her arms reached up for him.
"I can't let you scream," he told her. "Miller would raise hell."
"Let him. What difference does it make? You and I are the only ones who count. We're the only two people left on earth-"
"No noise," Dave insisted. He could see his chances of coming up here another time with Sally-or anybody-fading with each abnormal sound Betty might make. It was too much to risk.
"I've got to stop you from yelling."
When he did not go down to meet her, Betty tugged hard at his shoulder.
"You win," she promised. "No noise."
Dave hesitated. Although he had heard of nymphs, this was his first encounter with one. Betty might turn out to be more than he had bargained for when he had brought her up. He had no wish to hurt her. Then a flaming urge to possess her overrode his hesitation.
His hands were resting on her pointed breasts. Testing, he squeezed. A tiny moan escaped Betty. His hands grew rougher and the moan changed to a sharp cry she evidently muffled in the dark against the pillow.
Her hands came to rest over his, clamping, demanding more. He dug his fingers into yielding flesh over and over again. Regardless of how brutal he tried to be she kept indicating more, the pillow muting her cries. When he tried to kiss her, he found her teeth were biting hard on the stuffed fabric.
What followed was a mad, unreal mating which, was both frightening and wonderful for Dave. He hurt her. She retaliated. He found himself thrilling to the deep raking of fingernails into his skin. Yet, throughout, he felt oddly unsatisfied. He and Betty were lusting animals locked in sexual combat. He found himself hungry for Sally's soft, tender caresses.
The wildness continued. Small fists slammed into his chest. When she tried to sit up, he pushed her back roughly. His shoulders ached from exertion and he felt burning welts forming along his arms.
He and Betty were one-they were joined ... They remained two separate entities, fighting.
It ended with a suddenness which was startling.
Dave felt as if he had been cheated. There had been no blinding ride down endless, hot torrents of dark passion, under flaming stars. He felt emptied-nothing more.
He stood beside the bed, flicked on the light, looked down at her. The pillow cover was shredded. Her hair was disheveled and sprawled over the sheet. Her skin was bruised. It was as if they had been in a fight instead of making love. The method had not appealed to him.
He plunged the room once more into darkness, dressed quietly. She moved, making small sounds. She was dressed in moments.
'You were a gas, Dave," she said. "Sally was almost right."
He shook his head in the dark. He felt wet streaks of blood on his arm. He wiped them off, wincing.
"Sally overrates you," Betty continued. "You're too cautious. I expected a football player to be real tough. With all those muscles I really thought you'd send me to the moon. But you were a gas, just the same."
Dave wondered how she was going to explain away the marks on her body. Had she been bruised before he had touched her? He could remember touching smooth skin only. If she got her kicks from being roughed up, an unmarked body meant one of two things-this had been the first time she had let herself really go or it had been a long time since the last round.
"Get off it," he said. "You got what you were expecting. I went easy on you this time. Rest up. The next time I get you up here it will take a doctor to carry you out."
Betty was silent for some moments.
"All right," she said finally. "You were wonderful."
"You bet your life I was wonderful. You've been waiting for this night for a long, long time, haven't you?"
"A long time. I've never had a room before, a place where I didn't have to worry about someone sneaking up on me. Letting myself go, completely, was like nothing that ever happened to me before. I can't explain it. It was like being all alone in the world-"
"I was here. Remember?"
"Yes," she said almost absently. "You were, weren't you?"
Dave pulled his shirt over his shoulders. He would have to send Frank up with her. Frank might enjoy the rough-and-tumble bit. He might also teach this crazy chick a thing or two.
He smoothed out the torn bed linen as well as he could in the darkness. No sense risking another fight.
In the hall he said, "Don't mention my having turned on the light. It's a new rule-I forgot about it."
Betty nodded, clinging to him as they walked down the stairs.
Dave headed straight to the kitchen where he could get a beer. Betty fell in with the gang listening to the records. Only Sally seemed interested in Dave's return. She waited for him in the doorway.
"Have a good time?"
"Fair." Dave partially quenched his thirst with a long pull at the can of beer. "I've had better. She'll improve as she gets older." He managed an amused expression.
"She scratched your face."
"You should see the rest of me."
"I have to leave. Well get together some other time."
"Sure."
Sally gave him a long, serious look. "You weren't surprised by her? I had a long talk with Betty. She's-a kind of kook."
"Nothing I couldn't handle."
"I'll find out from her."
"Do that." Dave laughed. I'll fill you in if she misses a detail."
"You seem a little too smug. I'm not sure I care for that attitude."
"Okay. I'll be unsmug." Dave frowned. "Where are you going?"
"I had a call. My sister's boy friend is home from the Navy. The leave was sudden. I promised I'd go over and say hello."
"I'll see you when you get back."
"I won't be back. Not tonight. Actually I should have left fifteen minutes ago. I hung around to see how you made out."
"And now you know."
"Now I know your side of the story. I'll get Betty to give me hers. Matching the two should be interesting."
Dave was the only one to say goodbye to Sally. Others ignored her. Miller and Frank Mains were not in sight. Dave hung around for a few more beers. He could not get interested in the music or the other girls. Betty met his gaze a few times. He carefully avoided giving her encouragement and she went back to listening to the music, eyeing other boys.
Dave had tried to play the game by Sally's rules. The results had not particularly pleased him-on the other hand, Sally was definitely intrigued. He drew some consolation from the fact that she had waited to discover how he had made out with Betty before she had left the cram session tonight.
A small victory-but it made him feel more secure as far as his future with Sally was concerned. She might hesitate before pairing him off with someone else the next time.
Dave walked back to the kitchen, glanced at the clock-he was growing tired of hanging around and now that Sally had gone he was bored.
Abruptly Frank Mains strode into the kitchen.
Frank said, "Had to go out for a while. Anything exciting going on?"
Dave told him about Betty. Frank's face broke into a huge grin.
"She likes to play rough?"
Frank strode to the living-room door. "Point her out to me, pal." Dave obliged.
"Just my speed." Frank nudged Dave. "Thanks a lot, buddy. Saw her come in with Sally, never met her before. I appreciate your giving me a crack at her before the word gets around."
He made a beeline toward Betty.
Dave decided to leave. There was nothing left here for him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DAVE SLEPT soundly. Once, during the night, he rolled over and the scratches on his body hurt enough to bring him briefly awake. But he went back to sleep instantly, his mind completely blank. Oddly, even before he had gone to bed his mind had tended to reject what had happened in the bedroom with Betty.
He could hardly wait to get to school the next day. He was no more filled with great desire for learning-but Sally would be there.
As he dressed he thought about the football team. His position as a first-stringer was secure enough, although he alternated with Buck Myers. But the key plays-the headline plays-would Hartman use him in those? Frank had assured him that Bill Miller swung a heavy enough club over Hartman to counteract Buck Myers' paternal backing. Miller stood quietly on the sidelines at each game. Hartman ran the team but Miller could squeeze favors out of the coach through the sheer magic-or threat-of his name and the nature of his appointment through the board and school principal.
The newly built school consisted of wide glass panelings tied into a unit by brick. The architecture was modern, utilitarian, naked bracings sparsely spaced between areas which would permit taking full advantage of natural light. A stone terrace with flowing fountains and landscaped shrubbery lent the sole decorative touches.
There were more conference rooms, teachers' rooms, storage space than the old building had contained. A sleek cafeteria served good meals. The plush auditorium, with blue upholstered seats, served often as a community meeting place and often featured local Little Theater's productions.
The school did not impress Dave as much as it did the local citizenry. He strode up the concrete walk with hardly a glance at its attractions. As luck would have it, Buck Myers was the first student that day to take a collision course with him.
"Still feel like finishing our little argument?" Myers asked.
The argument had been, as usual, over Jeanie. It had occurred on the football field. Jeanie had again been in the stands and Myers had again speculated on her susceptibility to his manly charms.
"Get in your red convertible and play fireman," Dave said. "And stop shooting off your face about Jeanie. I've heard talk you've been bragging."
Dave was suddenly steaming again over Frank's remarks concerning Buck and Jeanie.
Myers, with his black hair, ruggedly handsome face, wide shoulders and muscular frame, presented a challenge most boys in school would gladly have ignored. Dave failed to be impressed. When Myers squared off in front of him, Dave balanced carefully on the balls of his feet, not only ready but eager for a fight.
Myers threw a fast right hand. Dave ducked under it, dropped his books. He feinted with a left, blasted with a hard right when Myers was decoyed off balance.
The blow caught Myers squarely on the nose. Blood spurted. Myers staggered, badly shaken. He regained his stance, reached for a handkerchief.
Myers was lifting the handkerchief to his face when Dave walked past him, wordlessly.
"Wise guy," Buck managed to mumble through the crimsoning cloth. "We'll finish this later."
Dave came to a halt, was tempted to go back and finish Buck, realized that, except for himself and Buck, the school grounds were deserted. He was late for class.
The corridors, too, were empty. He hurried, rounded a corner, picking up speed. Being late was no serious offense. But Dave wanted to avoid all black marks on his record this year, with the opportunity of going on to college in his grasp.
The figure loomed in front of him with a suddenness that made collision inevitable.
Dave bounced off the big man, found himself slamming into the bank of metal lockers.
"I'm sorry."
Dave came off the lockers. The man offering a hand to him was Rich Taylor, the new teacher who had visited Miller.
"It's okay," Dave said. "My fault, anyway. I was rushing."
He felt annoyed. Taylor was a disturbing new element to be reckoned with. Dave did not like the man and felt no reason to pretend he did.
"I should have looked where I was going," Taylor said. "Are you hurt?"
Dave gave a sarcastic laugh. "Hell, no."
"We've met," Taylor said. "You were at Bill's house, weren't you?"
"What if I was?"
The teacher frowned. "I'm not prying. I know few students. I'm new at this school. I thought we might become friends."
"Some other time," Dave said stiffly. "I'm late for class."
The teacher dropped his extended hand. Dave noticed that Taylor seemed older, more sombre, this morning than he had that night at Bill Miller's. He seemed to be coping with problems and his thoughtful scrutiny of Dave suggested Dave had become one of them.
What did the guy expect? Cheers and salutations because he had once been a headliner?
Dave walked on. He glanced over his shoulder a few times at the new teacher, who stood for a moment looking after him.
Before Dave entered his classroom he had time to see Taylor open the door leading to the principal's office.
A spy, Dave mused. A damned spy. Taylor was probably going to turn him in for being late in a hallway. Taylor would also report what he had seen at the cram session at Miller's house. Dave grinned. Hell, Taylor had missed the best part.
The day dragged for Dave. He did not see Sally and was disappointed. For some reason Miller, too, was not in evidence. Dave had been curious to see if Miller would treat him as an equal in school as well as on the outside.
As usual, Jeanie was waiting for Dave when he came out on the field for practice. She was in the stands and waved at him.
Dave trotted across the turf. As he loped along he noticed Rich Taylor standing at the far end of the iron railing. Farther down the concrete ramp he at last saw Bill Miller. Miller gave Dave a small hand gesture of recognition and greeting.
Dave felt better. Miller was rooting for him.
He wondered at one phenomenon. Taylor and Miller had played together in college. Now they were standing far apart from each other, like total strangers. Dave pondered this situation as he neared Jeanie. At the pseudo cram session Miller had introduced Taylor as a close friend. Had Taylor turned them all in because of the beer that night? If Taylor really were a spy, he could cause trouble. Or could he? Miller probably was capable of handling any situation.
Jeanie said, "Hi."
Dave took in the way the white dress hugged Jeanie's shape. He tried to imagine her naked-would she excite him more than Sally?
"Hi, baby. Did you miss me?"
"The most. Did you have a good time at the cram session?"
Dave grinned. "The greatest."
"Did you learn anything?"
Dave fought a grin that somehow had little to do with anything funny. Yes, he had learned something. But he could not say so to Jeanie-even as a gag.
"Did I say something funny?"
"A private joke. You wouldn't understand."
"Wouldn't I?"
Dave shot her a questioning look. Jeanie's voice had sounded odd. Her face revealed nothing. Had she heard of Miller's cram sessions?
"What about tonight?" Dave asked. "Do we see each other at the usual place?"
"You and Buck Myers had a fight, didn't you?"
At the mention of Myers' name Dave felt his back stiffen.
"Word gets around fast, doesn't it?"
"Faster than you can imagine," Jeanie answered.
"What do you mean by that? It sounds like a crack."
"Was Sally Wilson at the cram session?"
"Sally?"
"Be honest with me, Dave. I want the truth. Bight now the truth is very important to me."
"All right. Sally came over for a few minutes. So what?"
"Buck says there is more to it than that. What do you say, Dave?"
"Buck wasn't there. How could he know what went on?"
"Buck knows Sally. So do I. He didn't have to be there. There were some juniors at the session. The word leaked out. Did you have anything to do with Sally?"
"No."
"Don't he to me, Dave."
"Now, listen," he protested firmly. "Myers is out to make you. Hell try any trick in the book to score-you know how he is. Do you believe him or me? Right now that's important to me."
"I want to believe you. And I can't explain it, Dave-but I feel you're lying to me."
"If that's the way you feel I'm wasting my time." He started back to the field.
"Dave."
He halted, twisted his head to look back angrily. "Buck wants me to ride home with him after practice."
"Go ahead. Ride with him. Just make sure you're wearing iron panties."
Her face grew pale. It was the first time he had spoken so strongly to Jeanie. She stood up, started running farther up into the stands. Before he could speak again she was beyond conversational range.
His conscience bothered him. As he was putting on his helmet he looked up to where she was sitting at the far end of the stands. Jeanie and Buck-how could it happen? They were poles apart. Was Jeanie trying to get even with Dave for what she suspected he had done? What he actually had done. Then it came to him that he had not mentioned to her the rumor about her and Buck. He should have.
Dave took out his anger in rough scrimmage. He carried the ball or tackled with abandon. When he blocked for Frank Mains even Hartman seemed impressed.
Dave saw Miller smiling at him from the sidelines.
Bill lifted clasped hands in a fighter's victory salute.
But when the teams were chosen for the practice game, it was Myers who stepped into the first-string fullback slot, not Dave. Dave was waved to the bench by Hartman. Politics, Dave thought bitterly. Buck's father had the dough. Dave did not even have a father.
Dave let his anger fester like an old wound. Mains had been right-Myers had slippery hands. Buck fumbled twice. He remained in the game.
Mains went out for a long pass, missed it because it was inches over his head. On his way back to the huddle, Frank made a point of cutting in front of the bench where Dave was sitting.
"Don't give up, buddy boy. In a few minutes you'll be in there blocking for me. Take a long look down field."
Dave did as he was instructed. Coach Hartman was on the sidelines. Bill Miller was talking to him. And, strangely enough, the new teacher, Rich Taylor, made it a threesome.
The coach approached the bench.
"All right, Rice. Get in there and show me what you can do."
Dave put on his helmet. In that moment Miller's stock went up a thousand points in his book. Bill was a magician. Miracles were expected of him and he produced the miracles. Not only had he induced the coach to insert Dave in the ball game-Miller seemed to have Taylor eating out of his hand.
There was only one small fly in the ointment. Dave replaced Buck Myers. Buck headed directly for the showers. That meant he would be dressed and gone before Dave had finished practicing. In helping Dave, Miller had unwittingly given Myers the opportunity to kidnap Jeanie from the stands-if she wanted to be kidnapped.
The practice session ended well beyond the scheduled time. Dave started on the required two laps around the cinder track, a chore Myers managed to miss by leaving early.
At the first turn, trotting along with the rest of the football candidates, Dave noticed the red convertible parked near the curb on the other side of the tall wire fence. Myers was in the front seat. The automatic top on the convertible was going down. Jeanie sat beside Myers.
Buck saw Dave, made a production of placing his arm over back of the seat and around Jeanie.
Jeanie pretended Dave did not exist. She kept her face turned to Buck's.
Dave could feel the jealous pressures building up inside him. Myers was a conceited bastard who would use Jeanie, then drop her when he was satisfied he had gone as far as he could with her. Dave could do nothing about the situation.
Damn it, why should he? He had been all through this in his mind. If Jeanie wanted Buck, let her have him. Dave had Sally-and the rest of Miller's gang. But at the moment they did not seem enough. Bill Miller was waiting for Dave. "You were good out there this afternoon, Dave. Real good. I told Hartman he was making a mistake every time he kept you on the bench."
"I know. Thanks a lot."
"You don't seem very happy about it."
"Problems."
"Anything I can fix?"
"No," Dave answered tightly. I'll handle this one my own way."
Miller laughed, a light easy sound. "If you find the problem getting out of hand, call me. I'll work on it with you."
Dave wiped a hand over his sweaty face.
"How about your problem with that guy Taylor?"
Miller squinted at Dave.
"I didn't know I had a problem with Taylor. What makes you ask?"
"He saw the beer at your house. He didn't care for it. Today I saw him heading into the principal's office. I thought he was turning us in."
Miller pondered, shifting from one foot to the other. He folded his arms over his green sweater.
"To be honest, Taylor can give us trouble. I don't think he has started anything as yet. But I know Taylor-I went to college with him. We used to be friends. If the going gets rough I can handle him."
"Taylor is a big man," Dave reminded Miller. A wide smile creased Miller's handsome face. "Buck Myers is a big boy. I hear you took a shot at him this morning. He didn't seem to faze you. Why should I be afraid to tackle Rich?"
"No reason," Dave answered. "No reason at all." Dave hurried up the concrete steps to the locker room. He was the last man in the shower. He scrubbed his tiredness away, watched it go down the drain with the soapy water.
He dressed in an empty locker room. He slid his legs into familiar gray pants, slipped a well-worn blue sweater over his white shirt. Familiar clothes, familiar place, familiar, routine motions.
But something about his world had changed subtly. What? He felt an inward chill-and promised himself that Sally was going to keep him warm for a while.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DAVE PHONED Jeanie shortly after seven-thirty. As angry as he was with her because she had ridden off with Buck, he wanted to check on their date. Was it still on?
Jeanie's father answered the phone. He told Dave that Jeanie was out for the evening.
Dave hung up without asking for details. With hardly a break in the movement of his hand from hanging up the phone, Dave dug another coin from his pocket and called Sally.
"It's me, baby. How about doing a few rolls tonight?"
"Like where?"
"Pete's place. A dance would do us both good."
"Do we walk or ride?"
"We ride."
"Large, man. I'll meet you on the corner of Elm and Main in fifteen minutes."
Dave grinned as he hung up the phone for the second time. Sally was pure gas.
He went out to his car-actually his mother's. The heap was ten years old but still in good condition. He gunned it, just for kicks. The feel of power ran from the motor all the way up the accelerator to his foot, a steady purr like two hundred horses rubbing sides with each other, closely packed and ready to race. The tank was full. Sally would be waiting for him and it was a perfect night for dancing and love. Love? Hell, sex. What more could a guy want?
Dave let the car leap forward. The tires screamed in protest-but tonight he wanted to roll.
Sally was waiting for him at Elm and Main. She wore a tight gray skirt made of wool and a jacket that was either a size too small or had never been designed to encase her generous upper dimensions.
She climbed into the car. Perfume immediately filled the interior. She eased over to sit so close to him that a thin sheet of tissue would have separated them.
"Man, you didn't tell me you owned wheels."
"Family heap. I can use it any time I want."
"Like crazy. How fast will she go?"
Dave shrugged. "I've hit a hundred. After all, she's ten years old."
"Let's see a hundred."
Dave matched Sally's grin. He twisted the steering wheel, headed toward a straight run on a recently built stretch of freeway. The stretch was not on the shortest route to Pete's gin mill, but Dave could not have cared less.
The speedometer registered a hundred when the car crossed an overpass. The wheels hit the steel strip joining the overpass to the main roadway. The car groaned, lifted clear. One moment the wheels were supporting almost two tons, the next they were free and spinning with no friction. Dave and Sally were jolted up from the seat cushion, sat weightless on thin air. Then the car dropped back to the roadway. The jar slammed Dave and Sally bouncing down on the seat.
Sally hugged Dave.
"You're the most. Really the most."
"Want to try it again?"
"Once a night is enough. Maybe the next time you can hit one-ten."
"I will. It's a promise." Sally squeezed him.
"You've put me in the mood for dancing. Like I'm all wound up. I feel I could dance all night."
She could feel that way all she wanted to, Dave mused. He had other plans for her.
Pete's gin mill was filled to capacity. Dave found a parking spot. The guitarists were entertaining tonight. They were playing rock 'n roll. Dave's nerves and muscles attuned to the music. He took Sally's hand.
"Warm up before we go on display?"
Sally picked up the beat and they began to sway on the sidewalk.
Dave got his arms and hips moving in time with the music. Sally began what might have passed for a belly dancer's pose and adapted it to the music. She kept a distance from Dave, hardly looking at him while her thrusting loins bumped the night air. Her eyes closed and the message rose from her loins until her arms and breasts caught on.
Dave kept his eyes open, savoring her every movement. Sally's head was back. Her chest and midsection thrust toward him, jerking with crazy, pagan gusto.
Dave had reservations concerning the current rock dances. They were highly sensual, imaginative, inventive and stimulating to the senses. But there was always that distance between male and female, that void which, to Dave, always seemed wasted. But he felt rich tonight-wealthy with healthy lust. He could afford to toss some to the night winds.
Sally continued dancing, moving her feet until she was facing away from Dave and giving him vibrating buttocks to watch.
Dave rocked closer to Sally until only inches separated him from her. They held that position, moving in perfect coordination until finally the music stopped.
Sally turned, used both hands to brush black hair from her face. Dave kissed her.
Her lips were fresh with fever, full and deep and soft. Like a clock slowly running down, an occasional movement stirred her hips. Her breasts put heat through Dave.
"Enough," she breathed, brushing her hair again. "Save some for later. I really want to dance for a while."
They went into the gin mill.
The booths lining three walls were filled to capacity. From the dooiway little was visible through the smoke. "What now?"
Dave shrugged. The bar was jammed three deep.
Dave managed to order beers. He and Sally stood behind the shoulder-high glass partition separating the entrance from the main room. The pushing going on around them was a constant nuisance.
Dave did not notice Jeanie until the music began to fill the air again. He caught a flash of red hair, a red dress.
Buck and Jeanie were the first to reach the dance floor. They were rocking before anyone else had made a move. They had been seated at a ringside table-either they had arrived early or Buck had shelled out a heavy bribe. Probably the latter.
A nagging hurt began in Dave. Seeing Jeanie in Buck's arms was like drinking iodine. He could feel poison spreading through his body.
He grabbed Sally, pushed people out of his way. He forced a belligerent path through the bobbing crowd until he and Sally were within touching distance of Buck and Jeanie. There he took possession of a few square feet of floor and began twisting.
Buck smiled-a confident, satisfied, look-who-I'm-with smile. Jeanie glanced at Sally in disgust, went on making delicious motions with her hips, her pleated red skirt flaring out to reveal curved thighs and white silk.
Sally was too engrossed in her own little heaven of music and dancing to notice the danger signals building around her. She concentrated on throwing sex at Dave across the small waste space separating him from her, unaware that she was not reaching him.
Dave knew abruptly that, try as he would, he could not shake Jeanie out of his system. She was his girl and Sally was nothing more than a sex fill-in. The fires of combat were building in Dave. He wanted it out with Buck, once and for all. The crowded dance floor was no place to settle the conflict but it happened to be the only place available.
Jeanie had her back to Dave, was giving him the benefit of buttocks which had taken seventeen years to develop so appealingly. Jeanie was trying to avoid Dave by refusing to look at him. Buck, facing Dave, became aware that Jeanie's twisting buttocks were turning into a red flag.
Dave was beginning to move in on Jeanie and Buck when he saw Rich Taylor enter the gin mill-and lost interest in taking Jeanie from Buck. What he suddenly wanted was to get out of the place before Taylor put another black mark on his record.
Dave reached out and grabbed Sally to bring her back from her dream world of sex set to music. Sally misinterpreted Dave's intentions, assumed her display of wantonness was getting to him. She wrapped her arms around Dave's neck, still twisting.
Dave dragged her to the exit-only to find that Rich Taylor was blocking his way.
Rich said, "Hi."
Sally looked up. Her music-and-motion-drugged eyes registered admiration.
"Hi," she said. "You're big, aren't you? Are you that big all over?"
"I saw you on the football field," Rich said to Dave. "You have what it takes. With proper coaching you could go places."
Dave said thanks and pushed Sally toward the door, annoyed at her, annoyed at Rich. He got her outside, where the air was becoming cool.
"Where are we going?" Sally asked, suddenly aware that Dave had taken her away from her music.
"I'm taking you over to the freeway. I'm going to hit one-ten in that crate of mine. Then I'm taking you to a spot I know where we won't be disturbed for hours. You got my glands working overtime and I can't control them any longer. When I get through with you, you'll be too tired to dance. And plan on having this happen often, many times a week. From now on in, baby, you are my doll-and don't you forget it."
"Suppose I don't want to play your games?"
"You'll play," Dave promised. "And you'll play hard."
"Will you hurt me?"
"I might. The way I feel now I damn well might."
Sally made a face-but her expression of protest lacked conviction.
"But why are we leaving now? We have the whole night to spend together. I was going to stay with you."
"That Taylor guy." Dave spat. "He annoys hell out of me. I can't stay in the same room with him."
"He seems nice to me," Sally answered dreamily. "Real nice. Say, he was at Bill Miller's place the other night, wasn't he?"
"Not for the reason you've got in mind. That guy is trouble. I can smell it clear out here."
"All right, Dave. If you say so." But Sally's eyes were drifting back to Pete's as they walked toward the car.
CHAPTER NINE
RICH TAYLOR surveyed the interior of Pete's pride and joy. This was where he had met Peg DeWitt. On that night the tavern had been relatively quiet. Tonight it was jumping and jiving.
He wished he had called Peg, invited her to join him. She was known here. He felt conspicuous alone. But he meant to get to know these kids-and let himself become familiar to them. Once they accepted him as a part of their scene, as they had grown to accept Peg, a barrier would be broken. He would be able to approach them on an individual basis as he had been trying to do with Dave Rice.
Rice had built up a quick animosity toward him. Cutting through Dave's defenses was not going to be easy. Rich could guess why Dave shied away from him-that sham cram session at Miller's house. Dave thought Rich might blow the lid off the gatherings. And Rich meant to do so-but without harming Dave or the other kids.
His day had been busy. First he had sat through a meeting with Chapman, the principal. Rich had contributed little to the discussion, outlining only in broad generalities what he had learned of his problems.
Chapman was old and gray, bent by arthritis. He was a man caught up with the times. Hiring prestige names to the faculty had been forced on him. Learning that he had selected a bad apple when he had hired Bill Miller had come as a shock to him. Chapman's recourse had been to try to counteract Miller with another prestige name-Taylor.
Chapman had gone into great detail concerning acts of vandalism against the school and surrounding areas. He had mentioned the large number of dropouts. The kids needed a knight on a white charger, a banner to follow. They also needed a proper vent for their adolescent restlessness.
Miller should have been that knight on the charger, the bearer of the banner. His effectiveness had proven worse than dubious. He was popular with the problem kids, but his aims seemed to be selfish. Perhaps even-Chapman had covered a moment's embarrassment with a cough-impure. Chapman, of course had no proof of the last.
The threat of scandal prevented Chapman from making the obvious move of firing Miller-or even having his activities officially investigated. Besides, many of the influential local citizens believed in Miller-felt his mixed cram sessions were good for the kids. So what was a little beer under proper supervision? The kids would run wilder in some saloon.
Chapman hoped Rich could maneuver Miller into a position where Miller would resign. Rich felt his chances of success on this point were remote. Miller was smart-and content with his present situation and its future potential.
Odd, Rich thought, how far apart he and Miller had grown. In college they had been as close as two crossed fingers. Now Rich was out to break Bill. Those wonderful Saturday afternoons with the stadium filled to capacity, the roaring crowd cheering them both-where had they vanished? Once he and Bill had worked together like meshing gears. Sometimes they had seemed gifted with ESP regarding each other. Rich had known automatically when to make the sudden break toward the sidelines where the ball would be waiting to be plucked out of the air. Miller had sensed Rich's position on the gridiron more often than actually seeing him.
Rich shook the past from his mind. He and Bill were no longer a team. He mingled with the crowd at the bar, nodding and smiling whenever the opportunity presented itself. He managed to work his way to the counter. He polished off a beer, made mental notes when he thought liquor was served to minors.
Pete, the owner-bartender, was too busy to recognize Rich instantly. When he did, the fact seemed to set off a minor explosion inside him. His round body seemed to jump, then settle. Then he moved away from Rich. Without a word he began serving at the other section of the bar.
Rich waited patiently until the bartender was forced to return because of trade demand.
"Pete, have you seen Dike Martin lately?"
Rich made the question casual.
"Who?" Pete's face was blank.
"The blond kid with all the muscles. You remember. He gave me a hard time not so long ago. You were afraid he and his gang might take your place apart."
"Oh, him. No, ain't seen hide nor hair of Dike since that night. He doesn't come here often, not often at all."
The man was lying, Rich knew from Peg. "Okay. I was just asking." Pete hurried away.
Rich continued his observations of the place. He leaned on the mahogany. The guitarists were silent for the moment. Most of the kids were packed around the tables and at the bar. The lights were too dim for him to be sure of details, but bodies were pressed together, hands were making anatomical explorations. One couple was pressed tightly against the wall. One step beyond what they were attempting to do and they would be inviting arrest.
Most of the kids were out for a good time. Rich himself had run wild occasionally in his younger days. But his days had been slightly different. There had been no atom bomb-no possibility that the sun might not rise tomorrow. Maybe these kids had a better excuse than he had had for slipping a gear now and then.
But places such as Pete's were no answer to earth's major problems. The dim lights bred improper liberties, intimacy was encouraged by the atmosphere and proper policing was lacking. The gin mill was a breeding place for trouble.
He remembered his first night here and Peg, glanced at his watch. Was eleven o'clock too late to visit her? Of course it was. But he could make a telephone call from somewhere near her place. Pete's was too noisy tonight. Peg might still be awake.
As he walked out to his car Rich thought again of Dave Rice and of the girl with him. The girl was a sexpot if Rich had ever seen one. It was a wonder Dave had any energy left for football.
Rich remembered the gleam in the girl's eyes when she had looked back at him from the doorway. Lust had been there. The fact that she had been with Dave had not mattered to her. She had-issued Rich an open invitation.
Students developing a crush for a teacher were nothing new. Such puppy love occurred at one time or another in every school system. In most instances the crush was harmless, was swayed by changing grades. But occasionally a serious case presented itself. A girl with a sex problem. Dave's date tonight had one. Rich had read it in her hot, wanton eyes.
Dave's football ability was impressive. Rich had seen it. In addition, the kid seemed likeable in spite of his efforts at aloofness, perhaps even belligerence. Attempting to soften Dave's outlook on life was going to be a challenge for Rich.
A light was burning in the far window of Peg's cottage. Rich changed his mind about telephoning. He parked, strode to the door, touched the bell. The lateness of the hour gave him apprehensions, but he wanted to see her.
A hall light came on and Peg stood in the doorway.
"I was passing. I saw your light."
"I've been expecting you. Not specifically tonight-but some time." She smiled. "Come in."
She wore a pink lounging gown, trimmed with white fur. White rabbit slippers protected her feet. Something about her suggested an off-season valentine-old-fashioned sweetness in modern garb.
The interior of the cottage was what Rich expected it would be-much like Peg herself. The furniture was colonial. Pink walls contrasted with white woodwork. Comfortable chairs upholstered in patch quilting rested beside a doughbox and a cobbler's bench. Maple abounded. Peg-or Miles Standish-could easily have called this place home.
"Your taste in decoration is much like mine," Rich said. "I've managed to arrange modest rooms in an old apartment house. Nothing as authentic as this. I like to think we've all had a past-a history beyond memory."
"So do I. I was having coffee. Will you join me?"
"Thanks."
Rich followed her into the kitchen. He saw copper utensils hanging on a wall covered with a fine wallpaper. Knotty pine chairs and a table rested near a redbrick, floor-to-ceiling stove. The aura of another era pervaded this room also. Still, all seemed new, well cared for.
His attention came back to Peg. He noticed she was limping. And in the clear light of the kitchen he saw a pale cast to her skin.
"What happened?" he asked anxiously.
"I fell, twisted my ankle. Nothing serious."
"Have you seen a doctor?"
"No."
Peg poured coffee into two cups.
The thought of Peg in discomfort or pain moved Rich to a degree that surprised him. He realized that everything about her appealed to him-the chestnut hair and the simple way she wore it. Her flawless face was as lively as he remembered it from their last meeting, for all its pallor.
"Perhaps you should let a doctor look at your ankle. You don't look well."
Peg grinned. "Are you a doctor?"
"Only of letters. Biology is a side line."
"That's good enough." Peg thrust out her shapely leg, lifting her skirt slightly. "See. There is nothing really wrong with it."
Rich kneeled, took her foot in his big hands. He peeled off the fur slipper, touched her instep, then her ankle. He found a small swelling near the ankle. He pressed it gently. Peg let out a soft groan, then a laugh.
"I believe you. You are no doctor."
"But I played football. I know something about injuries. This should be strapped. You could aggravate the injury by walking on it without some support."
Peg stood looking down at him. Their eyes met and lingered for an instant. Suddenly Rich felt silly, kneeling before her. He stood up. Peg started fussing with cream and sugar.
They sat at the kitchen table.
"How are you making out with your classes?" Peg finally asked.
"As well as can be expected." Rich sipped, savored the hot coffee. "Each school has its own routine. It takes time before everything falls smoothly in place."
"What do you think of our students?"
Rich pondered the question. She knew more answers to these kids' problems than he did.
He decided on being noncommittal. "There are good students and bad ones. Kids are probably the same the world over. Special circumstances produce special conditioning."
Peg laughed. She threw back her head and her hair shimmered silkenly under the bright light.
"You're not saying much."
"What do you know about Dave Rice?"
"Dave is a nice boy. I hope you're not trying to nail him as either good or bad."
"I'm not. But he's traveling with a fairly fast circle of friends. I saw him with a real lively number tonight."
"Jeanie?"
Rich did not know Jeanie. He asked Peg to describe her. When Peg mentioned red hair, Rich knew Peg was referring to a different girl. When Peg completed her description, Rich shook his head.
"I didn't see Jeanie. This girl had black hair. She was well developed. A woman too soon."
Peg lifted an eyebrow.
"My, you really are observant, aren't you? And you put things well. 'A woman too soon.' I like that."
Rich could not suppress a grin as Peg tightened the belt of her gown, removing enough slack from the garment to emphasize her own configurations.
"You could run her right out of business," he said truthfully.
"Is that a compliment? After all, I'm not what I am too soon."
She blushed faintly.
"Not too soon-not too late," Rich said. "You're perfect."
"We'd better change the subject." Peg got up, brought the coffee pot back to the table.
"Okay. What about Bill Miller? How does he strike you?"
Rich's eyes remained fastened on Peg's bosom as she poured coffee into his cup. He could change the subject but there was a persistent time lag in his mind which refused such a fast adjustment. Peg was beginning to arouse him.
"Bill is very handsome."
The way she said it created a question in his mind. The answer was really none of his business but he asked the question anyhow.
"Have you dated him?"
"A few times," she admitted readily. "Never seriously. We don't have much in common."
"What were the differences?"
Peg shrugged. "Explaining all of them would be difficult. I guess they could be condensed into our philosophy on life. Bill is a great believer in living for the moment. Tomorrow can go to hell as far as he is concerned. Yesterday is dead. I can't accept that way of thinking."
Rich added sugar and cream to his coffee without answering. He felt relieved that Peg did not like Miller. Bill had a way with women. Rich did not yet know how he himself felt about Peg-but in any relationship he might have with her, Bill could have been a complication.
Especially since Rich and Bill seemed now destined to work against each other.
"Miller is pushing his theory with some of the students," he said, watching Peg's eyes. "Dave Rice has been going to Bill's home at night-mixed cram sessions, they're called. The girl Dave was with tonight was there one evening."
"Dave is going steady with Jeanie," Peg protested.
"He-wasn't with her tonight."
"Dave isn't a two-timer. I hope he hasn't broken with Jeanie. Those kids belong to each other. I've seen them together. They would be good for each other."
Peg fell silent for a moment.
"I think Bill is pushing some of the kids in the wrong direction," Rich said. "I'm supposed to form a kind of counterbalance. I may need your help."
"I'll do anything." Peg laughed. "Almost anything."
It was quite late. She seemed suddenly tired. She was also experiencing some difficulty with her ankle. She reached down frequently to rub it.
Rich got up. "Is the ankle stiffening up on you?"
"A little."
"Please have a real doctor look at it-for my sake if not your own."
She walked with him to the doorway over his protests. He hated to go to his lonely room. He could not remember spending a more enjoyable evening.
Peg's face was turned up to his. He kissed her.
Her lips were soft and yielding. At first he sensed a reserve in them-then sudden fever.
The distance between himself and her vanished as the kiss grew in intensity. They held on to each other, two lost swimmers drowning in sudden emotion. When Rich raised his mouth from hers, she gasped for air.
"I could grow to like you very much," Peg whispered.
"I feel the same way about you."
"You'd better leave, Rich. Any other way might spoil it for two people like us."
"People like us? What kind of people are we? Peg-I don't want to leave." He came back in suddenly, heeled the door shut. "Are we some kind of special people? Tell me, Peg."
She shivered against him. She was not a small woman but she was tiny pressed to his massive bulk.
"No," she whispered. "Not very special at all, I guess. All right, Rich, I don't want you to go-but on one condition."
"What's that?"
"That you never think of this night again-or mention it to me. Or try to follow I' up by making a special effort to see me. In school-socially-we're just a couple of teachers, colleagues."
He stared down, puzzled, at her upturned face. Its color had returned, as had its curious animation. A series of fleeting expressions seemed to cross it-a plea for understanding, a request for cooperation and, last of all, he saw in her eyes a naked look of want.
The last decided him. "I agree to the conditions."
Laughing suddenly, deep in his chest, he lifted her in his arms. Almost at once her mouth sought his and clung while he carried her into the bedroom.
He seemed to find his way by instinct-the bedroom opened from a narrow corridor leading from the foyer, as it had in innumerable historic, colonial cottages he had toured. In historic restorations Rich had seen, a number of small bedrooms had opened from just such small corridors-here there was only one. Peg evidently had done some conversion, for this room was fairly spacious and contained only touches of colonial furnishings. The room was private, unfinished.
Rich was interested only in the bed, three-quarter size, comfortable and modern. He lowered Peg on it, drew open her wrap and put both hands on her breasts.
She wore a filmy bra, the non-supporting kind. She needed no undergarments to shape her. He kneaded the soft flesh gently through the gossamer fabric, her eyes warm as sunlight upon his.
"Please, Rich," she whispered. "Let's take our time."
She closed her eyes while Rich undressed, wondering exactly what kind of person she was.
Are toe some kind of special people? Tell me, Peg....
No. Not very special at all, I guess, Rich....
She was not a virgin. Nor had what was about to happen happened to her very often. When it did, she was oddly helpless. She knew, had known from girlhood, the strictures of convention. She even believed in them. But there had been occasions when she had broken the rules-there would be others in the future. She never knew why-or when. These moments came suddenly, triggered by some unique facet of male personality.
She had never been able to define the quality in any given male that started her need. A man could arouse her once-then never again. She had never had an affair that lasted through more than three intimacies with any one man. Usually she loved a man only once. But the first sight of his intimate nakedness always affected her powerfully, shocked her while giving her an agonizing sense of anticipation.
Will I ever get enough of him?
That was always her thought And she always got enough-and the affair was finished.
So she kept her eyes closed while Rich took off his clothes. She heard him move about the room, imagined the huge bulk of him emerging from the casually conservative garb he affected. By some instinct of timing, when his weight settled again on the edge of her bed, she knew that the exact moment had come for her to look at him.
She opened her eyes. He was tremendous, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over her. He seemed larger, naked, than he had been with clothes on. His shoulders loomed enormously above her, tapered to a startlingly lean waist, powerful haunches, long, muscular legs.
She took all of him in with a swift, roving glance, aware of the shock wave of heat slamming outward from somewhere within her to try to reach him, touch him with its radiation-aware also that her lips had parted, gaping slightly, showing white teeth.
She smiled when he began to undress her. She whispered, "Thank you, Rich-" as though he were performing some gentlemanly courtesy.
And he was, indeed, being gentle. He opened her wrap all the way, then lifted her out of it, handling her as though she were both a woman and a child. Her weight meant nothing to his strength. Her undergarments drifted away and he was with her, loving her, kissing and adoring every inch of her with worshipful, honest hands and eyes.
Perhaps this is what they've all had in common-an honest, bio-esthetic approach-the men I've been with ... Have I coined a word? Bio-esthetic. Biological and esthetic-meaning nature's basic lusts adorned with love of beauty, love of me....
She knew that to all the men she had been with, she had been beautiful.
He sought out her intimacies frankly, kissing her from mouth to instep, touching all points between. Shoulders, breasts, belly and below-his lips lingered there, probing, savoring their coming oneness as she herself savored it.
She would not think later of what she did now-it was not a thing of the mind but of the body. There was too much of him for her actually to explore fully, but she returned to his manhood the compliment he paid to her femaleness, knowing a tinge of fear at his size and her ability to contain him.
The moment came then, almost imperceptibly, when she did contain him, when her body embraced his bulk, her flesh yielding, closing around him, and he probed powerfully for the deep source of her lust-for the reason of their being together.
He found it, perhaps as no other man ever had. All others were wiped from her mind and he might actually have been the first man she had known. She cried out and small pleas ululated from her throat, while the fire from his deep, surging probing spread from her loins to her swollen breasts, fevered her panting breath, exploded in staccato gusts from her throat.
With others, the time element had been a factor. With Rich it was not. She reached burning peaks-he triggered her releases and the imprisoning flight toward the naked flames began again. Moth and candle-converging, helpless, circular flight toward ecstatic destruction-but always she escaped destruction.
When at last he gave her all that he was she met him with a cry that held both triumph and release from an ecstasy that, in instants more, would have killed her.
They spoke little during the rapturous aftermath, while she still contained him. The treasured moments she must never again remember.
She stopped him when he tried to tell her of love. This could be love, she told him-but love might also be more.
He looked a little shocked and she laughed softly. "I'm not a bad woman, Rich. Nor am I always good. It's just that love-it will have to find me. I've never found the definition of the word in reality. In books, yes. Perhaps I've seen it fleetingly in other people. It simply has never happened to me."
He seemed to understand and his smile joined hers. "Now I know why you imposed those conditions-I'll observe them scrupulously. I'll never press you, haunt you. But I'm hoping love will find us both."
He left her. Once more she accompanied him to the door, kissed him good night.
After the door had closed behind him she glanced at her watch and received a mild shock.
So much had happened.
So little time had passed.
CHAPTER TEN
DAVE HURRIED Sally to the car. He was still angry when he drove away from Pete's. That Taylor guy steamed him, always popping in at the wrong time. The fact that Sally had seemed taken by the guy did nothing to raise Dave's boiling point.
He drove to the freeway, tires screaming on turns. On the freeway he lead-footed the gas pedal to the floor. The car hit the overpass and bounced-but this time he felt no keen thrill. Sally managed a gasp of delight but Dave had his mind on other things.
He located the road he was searching for, a dirt lane leading to a small river. He parked at the water's edge, turned off the ignition.
The motor barely stopped running when Dave grabbed Sally. He slid his hand into her dress and cupped one of her heavy breasts. He ran his hand over the soft globe roughly, squeezing and massaging the tip.
"Now wait a minute. I'm not an automobile. You can't get the motor running by twisting your fingers."
Dave ignored her protest. He peeled her dress from one shoulder, bared a breast. He was working on the other side of her dress when she stopped him.
"What do you think you are doing?"
"You know what I'm doing. Don't make it hard for me. Give me some help."
Cloth gave and both breasts were exposed to moon-glow and Dave. Sally made no attempt to cover herself.
"My, my, you lost the veneer of sophistication soon, didn't you?"
"Cut it," Dave said. "You call your way sophistication. I call it kicks. You're my girl now. Stop acting coy."
"What are you trying to prove?"
Dave did not answer. He began working on the dress again, lifting the skirts until his hand caressed bare flesh.
Sally sat stiffly while his hands roamed her bare stomach, around her hips, came back to her thighs again. She showed no reaction at all. He became motionless, puzzled.
"You're frozen. What in hell is wrong?"
"You're wrong," Sally answered woodenly. "You're running in the wrong race. I told you once-play it my way or we don't play at all."
"I told you-you're my girl."
"I never said I was."
"You don't have to."
Sally laughed, squeezed her legs together. The pressure imprisoned Dave's hand.
"This says I have to. I'll take it away. I really mean it."
Dave sat upright on the seat. He drew his hand away.
"Okay" he said. "I don't need it."
"Get with it, Dave. You're not kidding anyone. You saw Jeanie in Pete's joint with Myers. You want to spite her. You think you can take it out on me."
"You've got cotton between your ears."
"I have not. But you're not using your head. I play the field, Dave. I'm nobody's girl-not yours, not Miller's. Get that straight. I'm here with you because I want what you want. You make a good partner-if we play my way. Otherwise, no dice. That's all there is to it. If you want to spite Jeanie, go ahead. But don't do it with me. Be with me because I'm me. Otherwise, shove off-after you take me home. Do I make myself clear?"
"You had that look in your eyes when you saw that Taylor guy. Does that mean you'll get cozy with him too?"
"Why not? He's big, bigger than Bill. I've never made love with a huge man before. I keep wondering what it would be like."
"Keep away from Taylor," Dave snapped. "I told you he's trouble."
"And he's big," Sally repeated musingly. "I wonder-"
Dave cut her off. "Can it. I don't want to hear about Taylor."
"I play the field, Dave. You'll never stop me. If you are smart you'll play the same game. I thought you were on your way when you went to bed with Betty. I guess I was wrong. But I'm not wrong about thisdon't treat me the way Betty likes to be treated. I don't like things rough. You should know that."
Sally took Dave's hand, returned it to her thigh. At first Dave tried to resist. But the heat corning from her skin began to bum through him and he had to move, just a little. His hand crept slowly up her thigh until there was no more thigh. And until he could move it no farther.
This time he was not rough. He fondled and toyed, waiting patiently for Sally's reaction. In moments he found the key and her motor was running. Her arms circled his neck and she forced his head down-down to where his hands were.
He did not know what she wanted until she whispered, "Kiss me there, Dave-" and slid down on the seat a little.
He found the prospect excited him. He placed his lips gingerly to where his hand had been. A strange, new excitement flooded him and he opened his mouth, probed with his tongue. Sally moaned, dug her fingers into his scalp. Almost reluctantly he allowed her to pull his head up at last. She slid farther down on the seat with him, her naked breasts trying to burn a hole through his shirt.
He opened the shirt. Her thighs trapped him. He met her with a steady force. Warmth surrounded him-deep, satisfying warmth which demanded a deeper seeking.
"Don't move, Dave. Stay just like this for a few moments. It's wonderful."
There was movement deep in her, where he least expected it. A small explosion shot through his veins. Then he could stand it no longer. He thrust forward with a violence that was shattering in its effect.
Sally gave a muted cry of pleasure.
The pressure of her thighs maddened him. He was caught in a soft vise, embedded in fife itself. He wanted to sink deeper, remain caught with no hope of escape. Hallucinations of warm, life-giving ocean depths floated before his eyes, streaked with colors, brilliant and startling.
The violent rhythm rose in tempo. The experience was exhausting. Release came almost as an unendurable aftermath.
She would not let him go. She forced him to be with her long after his love had cooled. At last she released him, slowly.
She sat up, pulled her dress into place, slipped a cigarette between her lips.
"I want to keep on with you. Not as your steady. Let's not have any more misunderstandings. As soon as you rock the boat-start trying to own me-it'll be all over for us. You take everything too seriously. Have fun-enjoy yourself. That's the reason for living."
He said nothing then, or during the drive back. He dropped Sally off in front of her house. Maybe she was right-live for kicks. Have fun. Sure, go to college, find a good job or profession. Without those, fun could come hard. But now when he thought of Sally and fun, he also thought of Rich Taylor. The guy had irritated Dave from the start. Now that Sally had taken a shine to him, Dave was ready to hate him. Not right. Sally had ruled out jealousy and possessiveness. The best Dave could do would be to avoid the big man.
That was his only chance for peace of mind, Dave decided-keep out of Taylor's way.
But as much as Dave wanted to avoid Rich Taylor, he really did not have much choice as the days wore on. Sally always suggested Pete's joint when they went out. And Taylor was making it his second home. He was there on almost any night, talking with the students, laughing, putting on a show of friendliness which Dave tabbed as phony. And he kept showing up at football practice.
Then Sally became a problem. Her eyes constantly sought out Taylor, cruised avidly over his wide frame. She never tried to hide the attraction Taylor had for her from Dave. Her attitude began to be a major cause of tension between them. Dave managed to keep quiet-not to get angry.
One night at Pete's he was surprised to discover that he was growing tired of Sally and her so-called sophisticated, pleasure-seeking ways. There had to be more to the enjoyment of life than hunger of flesh for flesh.
Jeanie kept coming back into his thoughts more and more. He saw little of her these days. She no longer came to football practice. Occasionally he saw her at Pete's-with Buck Myers. They seldom stayed late. A few times Dave almost bumped into her on the dance floor. She seemed about to speak to him once or twice, but a conversation never developed.
The longing at least to talk to her grew acute in Dave. Finally he made up his mind he was going to see her again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HE PARKED under the almost leafless maple in front of Jeanie's home. A crisp October snap was in the air. The evening's chill promised frost by morning.
His phone call to Jeanie had bordered on the cryptic. He had simply asked if she would go for a ride with him. She had hesitated, then agreed.
He burped his horn and Jeanie came out of the house. She wore a tan suede jacket, checkered wool slacks.
She said, "You've been using your mother's car a lot lately. Doesn't she ever need it, evenings?"
So she had been noticing him. Probably she had seen the car parked at Pete's. Had she also seen him driving Sally to other trysting places?
"Tomorrow I'll have it sprayed a bright red to match Buck's convertible," Dave fired at her.
Jeanie had reached for the door handle. Now she drew back.
"Ii you're going to fight-I won't go with you, Dave."
"Wait a minute." Dave reached across the seat to open the door for her. "Get in. I'll be good."
Jeanie hesitated, then got into the car. Dave started the engine, pulled away from the curb.
"Why did you want to see me, Dave?"
Dave said nothing. He was heading for the freeway and the overpass.
"You haven't told me why you wanted to see me," Jeanie insisted.
"It's been a while since we had a date. Aren't you curious about what's been happening to me?"
"All right-I am curious." Jeanie smiled. "And I've wanted to see you. But you haven't tried very hard to find me-now that you seem to have become the big star on the football team. Between football and Sally Wilson-I guess you haven't had time for me."
"You've seen me play?"
"I've heard about your playing. And I've seen Sally with you."
Dave twisted his head. "Now who wants to fight?"
"Take me home, Dave. I'm sorry I came." Dave laughed. The overpass with its steel hump loomed ahead. He began to feed more juice to the engine.
"Dave. You're going too fast."
Dave's foot became heavier.
"Dave-look at the speedometer!"
He was too intent on the road ahead and the onrushing rise of the overpass. He knew how fast he was moving. He had the pedal to the floor. This was where he had to pay complete attention to the road. That steel bump leading onto the bridge was a stinker and he had to hit it squarely.
He hit it right. He thought he heard Jeanie scream something about his hitting over a hundred. The wheel jerked in his hands and he held on for life.
The car took off. He and Jeanie hung weightless for a moment, suspended above the seat. The heap crashed down, straddling the white center stripe running down the middle of the overpass. The hood was angled toward the steel railing. Dave twisted the steering wheel ever so gently.
Jeanie screamed again. The side of the car scraped steel. For an instant Dave thought he and Jeanie were finished, done, dead. Then he had the car under control and they were flying down the straightaway.
Jeanie's face was as white as winter's first snow. She was holding onto the dashboard in terror.
Dave eased off the gas, settled down to a sensible speed. He came to a familiar turn-off, swung down the unpaved lane that led to the creek where he had taken Sally.
"Take me home," Jeanie pleaded. "I think you've lost your mind."
Dave settled back on the seat, cranked down the window. The night was quiet by the creek. "I thought you'd enjoy the free flight."
"I didn't."
"Too bad."
They sat in silence, watching the narrow stream of water. Jeanie shivered.
Her perfume was different from Sally's, less overpowering, more beguiling. It was as fresh as the night air.
"We haven't dated for weeks," Dave said finally. "Has that mattered to you? Is Buck taking good care of you?"
Jeanie refused to look at him.
"Whose fault is it that we broke up?"
"Yours," Dave snapped. "You were the one who got sore at me and drove home with Buck Myers that day at practice."
"You lied to me about Sally-and that cram session at Miller's house."
"I said she was there. You tried to make a big deal out of it."
"Maybe it was a big deal to me. I know what kind of a girl Sally is. So do you. By now you must know more about her than I could imagine."
"And I know the kind of guy Buck Myers is-You should, too, by now."
Jeanie slapped Dave on the face. The sound echoed in the car.
"Take me home. I have to be in early."
Dave felt the anger build inside him. He reached out, grabbed Jeanie's hands.
"When you're with me you have to be home early. Does Buck take you straight home from Pete's joint?"
"He does. My father knows Buck's father."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Mr. Myers is a respectable businessman. My father has known him and Buck for years. They've both been guests at our house. My family hardly knows you." .
"Because my family doesn't own a respectable business? Because my father is dead and my mother has to work?"
"I don't mean it that way," Jeanie said.
"Does your father know you've been balling with Buck?"
Jeanie struggled to free her hands, failed.
"That's a he. Buck hasn't touched me-except decently. Not nearly as much as you."
"He says he has. It's all over the school."
"Somebody's lying. I don't think it's Buck."
Dave managed a laugh. "Everyone lies-except you and Buck. All right, prove it-prove Buck never had you on your back."
"I-how can I? But he never did. And your language is foul."
"You can prove you're a virgin." Dave felt her hands go rigid in his. "You mean-"
Dave yanked her roughly to him and kissed her. Her lips were unresponsive. He held the kiss, savoring the familiar taste of her lipstick and the nostalgically heady smell of her.
"Believe me, Dave. I had nothing-like what you think-to do with Buck."
Dave released Jeanie's hands, placed her arms around his neck. He kissed her again, long and hard.
"Prove it," he whispered. "Prove to me you're what I always thought you were."
"Please, Dave. I-"
"If you cared for me-you'd prove it."
"I did care for you, Dave. Now I don't know. But I've missed you-a lot."
"Show me how much. You can have me now."
Jeanie's arms tightened around his neck.
He located the zipper of her slacks. He eased it down and slid his hand into her clothing. She made a small, strange sound when he located the elastic waistband of her panties, probed under it. She started to struggle when his palm slid down to her bare hip.
Then she quieted and let him caress her intimately.
This was farther than he had ever gone with Jeanie. Damn it, he had learned something from Sally. He was making progress. Suddenly he became as gentle as Sally had always wanted him to be. He made no attempt to undress Jeanie. He caressed and explored. At last Jeanie began to make responsive movements. Her loins began to bump against his hand in a gentle, slow, curiously helpless rhythm.
The spell could be easily broken, he thought. One wrong move and the magic holding her will to his would vanish.
He lowered his head to where his hands had been. He kissed her bare waist, let his lips trace down the path his hands had taken. This he had learned from Sally. Jeanie shivered but did not stop him.
With infinite care he lowered her slacks and underwear below her hips, his mouth seeking her most intimate parts. She seemed strangely defenseless to this method of attack-and Dave silently thanked Sally. Then Sally was gone from his mind-Jeanie was sweeter, warmer, purer. Her reflexive responses, totally un-practiced, had already told him all he had wanted to know.
No one had touched Jeanie as he was touching her. Her fingers slid through his hair, pressed his face harder between her thighs.
The rest was easy. Jeanie was breathing heavily when he removed her slacks and panties altogether. She slid down under him on the seat as he rose to cover her.
His mouth found hers now. The tender portion of her was burning his hand. He purposely refrained from going any farther until she was moving of her own accord, her body seeking, demanding.
His mouth muffled her short, sharp cry of pain as he filled her. For an instant she went limp and he was motionless, impaling her. Then she began to move and he moved with her, taking over at last-all teasing and cajoling over. She became his with a tenderness he had never envisioned, could never have imagined. It drove him to assert his maleness and strength-and from being his she grew into a oneness with him, so that they were truly joined.
He had never known anything like it. He felt something close to fear-as if somehow, in this instant, he were signing his life away. Then the fear was gone, drowned in the molten flow that made part of him forever hers....
Later they sat without words. Language had grown meaningless between them. Where was there left to go? They had already been there. What was left to say? Words had not mattered before-why should they now?
When Dave tried to touch her, she moved away. More than once he started to tell her he was sorry. The words never materialized. And they both knew he was not really sorry for what had happened. It was the present that held the sadness.
"Do you want to go home?" he asked at last.
Want? What did the word mean?
But Jeanie nodded in the darkness.
He started the motor, guided the car up the lane and onto the black highway. Her silence frightened him.
"What have I done?" she suddenly asked out loud. She was not talking to Dave. She was gazing through the side window, talking to herself.
"Buck-"
Jeanie swung angrily around on the seat. "Who cares about Buck? I never have. I cared about you and now see what happened. I could handle Buck. I knew exactly what he was after and he was never going to get it from me. But I trusted you."
"I told you I was sorry."
"Will you stop lying to me-telling me things you don't mean?" Her voice was high and strained. "Do you know what we've done? We've spoiled the future we might have had. I dreamed of marrying you, Dave. I never thought that way about anyone else."
"I know that now."
"Now I can't dream any more-there's nothing left to dream about. We're just kids-not ready for marriage. You're going to college. I'm going back home to try to be what I used to be. But I'm changed. Everything's changed."
"Don't talk like that." Dave reached out with his hand. "I love you. That makes it different."
"No, it doesn't. So I proved that Buck never touched me. That's a laugh on me. Why did I have to prove anything to you-to anybody? What can I prove to anybody after this? Even to you?"
"We can still be married." Dave's voice lacked conviction, even to himself.
"We can-but will we? We can dso keep doing what we did just now. Will that prove that we love each other? Will it prove anything-except that you can get from me what you get from Sally?"
"I don't know," Dave said.
He found himself growing suddenly angry. She was asking too many questions to which he did not have answers. He was tired of questions.
"I'm sorry, Jeanie." His voice was harsh. "Forgive me."
"Take me home, Dave. Please take me home."
And he knew he could never take her home again. Not as she had been when she had last left it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SATURDAY WAS rainy. The football field was a sea of mud. Dave sat on the bench, watching Buck Myers make his fourth fumble in the game. It was the third quarter and Dave had yet to see action in the game.
The crowd-considering the weather-was good. The faithful who had braved the rain were cheering for a victory which no longer seemed possible. Dave's team was behind by twenty-one points and the opposition was showing no signs of letting up.
Dave could not understand why he was riding the bench. Hartman had put Myers into the line-up at the start and had kept him in. Bill Miller had shown up at halftime in the locker room and had gotten into an argument with Hartman. But Hartman had been too busy talking to the team to listen to Miller, who finally had stormed out, bitter and angry. Miller was now up in the stands, watching the conclusion of the game. Somewhere in the stands, Dave knew, also sat Jeanie, whom Dave had not seen since their evening together at the creek.
With victory, or even a good showing for the team, apparently beyond recall, Buck Myers was getting rattled. He was missing blocks and getting confused by the signals Dud Ames was calling. Twice Dave's team was in a position to score and failed to do so.
With five minutes left in the game, Dave stood up and began to walk toward the showers. Hartman saw him leave, made no attempt to stop him. It was just as well-Dave was hurt and angry enough to have said things that might have ruined his chances with Hartman for the rest of the season.
The spectators were too engrossed in the game to make a noise over Dave's exit. Most of them probably assumed he had been hurt in practice and had not played for that reason. Dave wondered what excuse Hartman would give the local newspapers and the school publication.
Dave saw Jeanie. He wanted to wave at her, could not bring himself to make the gesture. A longing to be on the old, familiar terms with her ached in him. The Jeanie of old could have helped him over this hump. Sally might help-but sex with Sally would be irrelevant to his bitter disappointment in the game.
He also saw Rich Taylor at the sidelines and was surprised when Taylor moved abruptly to come tailing after him.
Taylor caught up with Dave as he was stripping off his shoulder pads.
"You got a bad break out there today. Practice injury?"
Dave studied the huge man. For some reason Taylor did not seem to be much of a menace today. Dave's mind was on the game-and much of his disappointment centered on Miller. Although Miller had tried.
"I wasn't hurt. Hartman wouldn't play me."
"Any special reason?"
"None I can think of."
"You didn't miss practice, break a rule, give him some lip?"
"I said I can't think of a reason."
Rich took off his raincoat, loosened his tie, tossed the coat over his shoulder.
"You didn't play-so you walked off the field. Do you think you did yourself a favor?"
Dave found a sneer, pasted it on his lips. He felt more like crying. "Sitting there getting wet was a waste of time. Let the suckers do it. To hell with Hartman. I'd just as soon not be in the line-up in a losing game. He could have made me the goat in those last five minutes."
"Didn't it occur to you that you're a part of a team?" 'It occurred. But I wasn't playing." Rich leaned against the locker, shifting his position slightly to give Dave elbow room. Dave was stripping off the wet uniform angrily, slamming equipment around.
"Do you always walk out when things don't go right for you?"
Dave looked up at the huge man. "What are you after, Mr. Taylor?" He managed a sarcastic stress on the "Mister."
"Do you think it was easy for me to get up and leave with that crowd watching me? That's a laugh."
"It could have been a grandstand gesture to make people ask questions. To put Hartman on the spot."
"That's not how I meant it. Anyway, to hell with Hartman. I wasn't being licked out there. The team was-because Hartman has to suck up to Buck's rich old man."
"Are you sure of that?" Rich asked quietly. "What else? I can play rings around Myers."
"The season's not over."
"This game is."
Rich turned to listen to the crowd noises outside. He swung back to Dave.
"It wasn't over when you left. And the fans are still out there, taking their licking."
"Let them. I started taking my licking earlier. I was licked when the game began."
Rich eyed him thoughtfully before replying.
At last he said, "Maybe you were, at that."
He walked away, leaving Dave staring angrily after him. What was that last crack supposed to mean? Dave swore, stomped into the showers.
The defeated team came into the locker room, tired and dejected. They had played hard and lost. A few jokes were cracked. They were bombs. Frank Mains saw Dave, said nothing. He seemed speechless.
While the rest of the players were washing the mud from their bodies in the shower, Dave headed for Hartman's office. He swung open the door to find Bill Miller and Rich Taylor already there. At his appearance an apparent argument came to a halt.
"Something you want, Rice?" Hartman asked. His voice was hard.
"I wanted the game. Now I want to know why I was kept out of it."
"No special reason," Hartman answered. "I felt Myers should play this one. Go home, Rice."
Dave started to leave the room. Bill Miller called to him.
"Wait, Dave. Don't let this old goat kid you. There was a special reason for keeping you out of the game."
"Shut up, Miller," Hartman said harshly. "None of this is Dave's business."
"The hell it isn't. The kid should know the facts of life. The man with the biggest hammer calls the shots. Buck's father was behind it, Dave. He doesn't want anyone to outshine his pride and joy." Miller swung back to Hartman. "Football could be a career to Dave, at least help him through college. You've told him as much-so we agree. Now give him his chance."
Hartman's face turned red. "Hell get his chance."
"I wanted him to hear you say that. In the meantime-he might as well know he's in a fight."
"I told you at halftime, Miller-get off my back. You are doing more damage than I'll ever do in this school. You corrupt the kids. I try to help them. Dave's played his share of games-this one he sat out. What damage has been done?"
"How about it, Dave?" Miller asked. "Does that make sense to you? Especially the part about how Hartman helps you kids by kissing big backsides."
A shocked silence gripped the room. Hartman looked ready to slug Miller, who was grinning at him wolfishly. Rich Taylor put a restraining hand on both men's arms.
Many things were making sense to Dave. For one thing, Miller was no miracle man. His arguments for Dave's playing were solid but he was inviting a loss of tempers. Hartman might be all politics-he might sell the team down the river to appease Buck's old man. But that meant that he could probably fight dirty, too. The only man of real strength in the room seemed to be Rich Taylor. The huge man was standing quietly, taking it all in, and there was no attempt to hide the disgust the man was feeling.
Suddenly Dave wanted out of the discussion. Implacable enmity from Hartman he could do without.
"Forget it," Dave said listlessly. "It's not that important. Sorry I busted in, coach."
He started out the door, feeling years older than when he had entered the room moments ago.
"Wait for me, Dave. I'll drive home with you."
"Don't bother, Bill. I'll make it alone."
The locker room was filled with voices. Dave ignored them, went out into the rain. The stands were empty. Pennants and paper cups and napkins were plastered to the soaked concrete.
He had not brought the car to school. His mother used it in daytime. He walked for hours, on streets which were suddenly new to him even though he had lived near them all his life. When he grew tired he sat on a bench in the park, let the rain beat down on him. At last he went home.
It was night. The sky was black when he backed the car out of the garage and headed toward the freeway. He made a dozen speeding passes over the steel-humped overpass, each time coaxing more miles per hour out of the car. Twice he went into dangerous spins on the wet asphalt. Each time he went back to try it again. Luckily there was little traffic and no cops were in sight. Dave grinned sourly. The law was probably ducking the rain in some coffee shop.
He called Sally from Pete's gin mill.
"No, I don't want a date," he said when she answered. "I wanted to tell you that you won't be seeing me around the school. I'm dropping out."
"You're kidding."
"In fact, you won't be seeing me, period."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It's over between us. I'm cutting out."
"Now I know you are kidding."
"Get it through your pretty head-I'm done-in, finished, kaput."
There was a long pause before Sally spoke again.
"I'm afraid it won't be that simple, Davey boy. Not that simple at all. We have a baby to consider."
"What?"
"I'm pregnant."
The phone suddenly weighed a ton in Dave's hand.
"Don't pull that old gag on me," he said roughly. "I've been around when you've been with other guys-and I'm not buying this rap."
'I'm afraid you are," Sally said firmly. "You have no choice."
"But you do. You've got Miller. And others."
"Maybe I don't want Miller. Maybe I want you."
"I have nothing. Why would you want me?"
"I haven't made up my mind. Until I do, Davey, don't try cutting me off. And think over a lot of things."
The phone went dead. Dave wandered blindly out to the bar, ordered a beer. A vise-he was caught in a giant vise. Miller would side with Sally-he would have to.
His word against Miller's? A laugh. Miller was a wheel in town.
A baby? He had never given the possibility a thought.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RICH TAYLOR had to get the Miller-Hartman stench off him. The way the two men toyed with young Dave Rice's future had sickened him. After Dave had left Hartman's office, Rich had laid it on the line to the two men. Even if doing so meant open scandal, he would blow the whistle on both unless the situation changed.
Hartman had been impressed. Miller had balked. He had argued with Rich, insisting he wanted only the best for the kids. He had left the meeting without offering to alter his student relations or attitude. A lot of local citizenry, he had argued correcdy, were on his side.
He had stated-incorrectly-that the local parents who backed him understood what he was doing.
To erase at least temporarily the foul scene from his mind, Rich found refuge with Peg.
He took her to a restaurant miles from town. They had dinner. They talked about themselves. Rich had known himself to be deeply in love with her since then-last meeting. They sat looking at each other over a flickering candle-not discussing that meeting but both aware of it.
Still, Peg noticed that something was bothering Rich. During infrequent pauses in their enjoyment of each other his eyes took on an absent look. She asked him about it.
"Where were you just now, Rich?"
His attention returned to her with a start. He grinned.
"At the afternoon's football game and the way Dave Rice was treated."
He told her in detail what had happened.
"You can't blame Bill Miller," Peg said. "He had nothing to do with Dave's sitting out the game. He was right to fight with Hartman over the shabby treatment Dave received."
"But not to foul up the kid irrevocably-Hartman's still the coach. That kid is being twisted. He's being made a pawn in a grown-up game where he doesn't belong."
"Did Miller tell him to leave the game early? Did Bill invite him into Hartman's office?"
"Of course not," Rich said with a trace of irritation. He did not care for the way Peg was coming to Miller's defense. "But Miller is taking a hand in shaping Dave's character and attitudes. Those meetings at his house have influenced Rice. Hartman didn't want to discuss the game with Dave. Bill was the one who kept the discussion going. Even Dave wanted out at the end. Bill was off base, baiting Dave. I could have clobbered him."
Peg peered at him. "Why didn't you?"
"Then I would be doing exactly what Bill was doing-making a scene in front of a student. Kids have problems of their own. They don't belong in wars adults wage against each other. Dave has a real gripe, believe me. He knows it. I feel sorry for him. He's the best player on the team. But what he needs is an explanation that'll let him live with whatever bitterness he feels. He doesn't have to get chewed up by other people's ambitions-just be allowed to fulfill his own. What if Hartman doesn't give him a chance after today? Will he make college? Will he bother finishing high school?"
"Even when you ask questions," Peg said with a smile, "you sound positive. I could listen to you for hours."
Rich grinned. "Is that a way of calling me a windbag without hurting my feelings?"
"Don't be silly. I mean it. I love to hear you talk. You care about the kids. So do I."
"If my assignment works out I'll probably be around these kids-or their successors-for a long time. In fact, I've come to the conclusion I wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life in this town."
"It's a small place," Peg ventured. "After a few years it could become rather dull. Do you really think you could spend the rest of your life here?"
"If it becomes too dull, we'll move."
Peg blinked. "Is that a proposal, Mr. Taylor?"
"You've known what I know since that night at your cottage," Rich said. "We're in love. A dinner with wine and a candle. All right, we've reversed the order of things. But you've been had, Miss DeWitt. I've simply set you up now so you can't refuse."
"Do I have to answer right this minute?"
"Right this minute."
Peg's lovely face stilled. It was the first time Rich had seen it so. The flickering of the candle put dancing lights into her serious eyes.
"We haven't known each other very long, Rich."
"But we came to know each other well-quickly. And for keeps."
"Not well, Bich." Peg continued to study him. "Only intimately. You really don't know me. You don't know this town or its people. A little more time would be to your advantage."
"I don't want any advantages. I've found a way to be happy. I don't want to lose it. I want to be with you-always. Your marrying me would be a real .convenience."
He grinned and abruptly Peg laughed.
"I love you, Rich. I really do. But let's think it over for a few days. What harm will that do? Last time-we were carried away."
Rich rubbed his hand over his square jaw. He wanted to press her into a decision tonight. He wanted this evening to end as their last meeting had. But he decided to concede a point.
"Next Saturday, after the game, we'll come here for dinner. I'll let you off the hook tonight. I won't again."
Peg laughed, reached across the table to squeeze his hand.
"It's a deal. But at least you know now I'll probably make you a difficult wife."
"I'll have you eating out of my hand. I'll bet you're already on tenterhooks about next Saturday."
Peg laughed again, tins time with a new warmth. "You win the bet."
It was close to midnight when Rich said good night to Peg. He kissed her properly and at some length at her cottage door. By tacit agreement, he did not try to go in-nor did she invite him. She was leaving early the next morning for a visit with her aunt in the city.
Next Saturday. It had taken on magic for both of them in the course of the evening. Neither of them wanted to risk spoiling it tonight.
Rich drove to Pete's place. He thought he might find Dave there. He was concerned for the boy. And he needed avocational therapy to counteract his aching, immediate want of Peg.
The place was jumping again. The guitarists were strumming, wailing. If the defeat of the football team had caused any sorrow among the teen-agers it was not evident here.
Rich stood at the bar. He towered over everyone in sight. Dave Rice did not seem to be in the place. Rich frowned. He hoped that if Dave was sulking about the afternoon's game, he was doing so at home.
Rich saw Sally moments before she saw him. She was at the corner of the dance floor, talking to a group of boys, her eyes roving. One of the group was Frank Mains, the halfback on the football team.
Rich was turning his head away when Sally's eyes found his. He grew aware of a strange sensation-he could feel the heat of her stare burning his face. She started to walk toward him. Rich began to doubt the wisdom of his having come here tonight.
Perhaps tonight, of all nights. His body still felt a physical need Peg had aroused in him.
Sally was mature-and not only for her years-he thought as she came closer. Ripe, full breasts. Hips that rolled like a troubled sea. A sensuous, swinging stride and a thrust to her walk that moved her midsection like a belly dancer's. Her black hair was teased to twice its normal coverage.
"Hello, Mr. Taylor," she said sweetly. "I'm Sally Wilson."
"Hello to you."
"The Mr. Taylor. Did you know you're the most talked-about teacher in school?"
Rich grinned. "What are they saying?"
"You're big with us ah. The students, I mean."
"That's nice."
"Do you dance?"
"Not very well."
"You don't have to be an Astaire. You just have to be yourself, Mr. Taylor. Come on, let's try one. I'll grade you, good or bad. Fair?"
"Fair," Rich agreed. She was smart and on the make. She was bad and as dangerous as dynamite-but, damn it, she was getting to him. "Impossible, however," he told her. "I twisted my knee this afternoon."
Sally pursed her ripe red lips.
"Don't be a coward. You walked all right this afternoon. You can walk all right now. You just don't want to dance with a student, isn't that it?"
Rich shrugged. "Let's put it this way-I flunked dancing long ago. I'm sorry."
"Then how about a lesson? Or a make-up test? I might give you a better grade."
"No can do. I'm leaving."
Sally peered up at him. The heat in her eyes frightened him. She was smart in ways she should not have been. Given half a chance, she might get to any man.
He did not mean to give her that chance. He started to turn away.
"You hardly sound like the Rich Taylor the gang talks about. That Rich Taylor wouldn't mind a few private lessons. Are you the real Rich Taylor?"
"There is only one that I know of. I'm sorry if you picked up the wrong impression about me."
He began to walk away. She took his arm, clung to it. Hers was not the ordinary touch-her fingers toyed at once with the muscles in his arm. The sensation was one of being branded electronically. Heat, but no pain, was involved.
"Don't play hard to get, Mr. Taylor," she whispered. "You won't have a kid on your conscience. I'm a woman, right down to my bare feet. I'll prove it to you. You intrigue me. I've never been with a man so big and so strong. I want to see if you're all man."
"I'm all man," he said evenly. "That's one reason we won't get together. Only half a man would take advantage of a kid." He weighted his next words. "Does Miller also intrigue you?"
Sally did not change expression. Her moist lips held their confident smile. She continued to gaze at him with unconcealed lust. Only her voice gave her away. It was a razor blade.
"Come down from your high cloud, Mr. Taylor. You can be had. I'm no kid. Don't ever refer to me as one again or I'll scratch your eyes out."
"What makes it so important for you to be grown up before your time? You have a long life ahead of you. Why rush things?"
"Maybe nature made it important for me to grow up fast. Look for yourself. Anyway, playing with dolls sickens me. I like to play with real people. When I was ten I taught a fifteen-year-old boy who lived up the street the difference between boys and girls. He still believed in storks and all that jazz. I played doctor with him. What a surprise he had when I checked him for appendicitis. When he checked me he almost fainted. Believe me, it was more fun than playing with dolls."
It was difficult for Rich to imagine this girl sitting in his class some day, listening to him explaining biology. Was she a junior? A sophomore? A senior? Perhaps she had already taken biology.
"I really have to be going," he said, conscious of the fact that many of Pete's customers were aware of their being together. Pete himself was staring.
Sally followed him out. He could not shake her. The cold air felt refreshing on his face. After he had taken a few steps on the gravel he turned and faced her.
"Go back, Sally. This could get out of hand."
"I want to talk to you."
"Some other time."
"I want to talk now. I'm going to have a baby." Rich stiffened. "Are you positive?"
"I was never surer of anything in my life." He studied her. She did not seem to be worried. If anything, she was proud. "Can I help?"
"Tell me, Mr. Taylor, do kids have babies?"
"Sometimes."
"Am I a kid?"
What could he say? He was at a loss for words. He could only stand there, amazed.
She came up to him, pressed her rounded belly against him.
"Doesn't that feel warm?"
He eased her away. She had to be out of her mind, he thought.
"I told you to stop fighting it, Mr. Taylor," she said. "I want you and I'm going to have you."
"You need help," he said. "Some kind of help. I'll do what I can."
She threw her arms around him, almost climbed up to lass his face. Her legs were wrapped around him and for a moment he could not move. As they were locked in that position two young couples passed them on their way to Pete's.
Rich forced Sally down. He was so angry he could not speak. And not only at her. Lust for her stirred in him.
"The back seat of your car will have to do," she said persistently. "Let's hurry before we cool off."
Rich slapped her. He had no excuse for doing so, he later thought. But his hand went out and cracked against her face. The gesture was probably subconsciously intended to hurt him, too. Later, it did.
Sally screamed. Her voice had the high pitch of a saw caught in wood. The two couples stopped, came running. Within a matter of seconds a small crowd had gathered.
"He molested me," Sally said with insanely calm malice. "He tried to feel under my dress. He molested me.
The ensuing silence was deadly. Then somebody coughed. Another of the watching kids snickered. The sound died instantly.
Rich turned and strode to his car. He got into it, glanced back.
Sally was pointing a finger at him and her words reached him clearly.
"Child molester!" she screamed.
He drove away. He wondered how many in that silent group he had left did not know Sally.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ALL DAY, Sunday, Rich relived his unpleasant experience with Sally. Rumors would spread, he was sure.
And after a while it would no longer matter what Sally was. The big question would be asked of him. Bill Miller would see to that.
He found himself asking it-who and what am I? As hard as he tried to dismiss from his mind what he had felt last night, he could not forget the pressure of her thighs when she had wound her legs around him-or the intimate contact of her stomach against his with its warm, yielding strength. Or the thrust of her breasts, the warm, soft clinging of her aroma.
He cursed himself. A girl like Sally could twist a man around, face him in the wrong direction. She possessed an elemental, mad magic. For an instant, when she had been clinging to him, he had felt a strong urge to reciprocate. He had wanted her, damn it.
The rumors would be wrong-but not a he.
By the time Monday rolled around Rich had managed to eliminate some of the guilt feelings which plagued him the day before. He reported to school as usual. After his first class the unfortunate episode almost disappeared from his thoughts. He completed two more classes, supervised a study hall and was in the lunch room almost before he realized the morning was gone. So intent was his interest in his work.
He did not learn that Dave Rice was a dropout until late in the afternoon when he was in the school office. He was turning in his absentee report when one of the secretaries mentioned Rice's name.
"Dave quit school?"
The blonde behind the typewriter flashed sharp, white teeth.
"This morning. I guess the football team will have a few rough Saturday afternoons now. Frank Mains also dropped out. Hartman's putting in for a new, king-sized crying towel."
Rich banged his hand on the counter. The secretary looked at him, startled.
"Sorry," Rich said. "I forgot where I was for a moment."
He started out of the office, heard his name called. It was Chapman, the principal. The man was standing in the doorway leading to his inner sanctum. A stern expression squared the older man's face.
"Come in, Taylor. I want to talk to you. Close the door behind you."
Chapman's office was stuffy, smelling of old leather and aromatic pipe tobacco. An ancient painting of Lincoln hung on the wall behind the massive mahogany desk. Abe looked overly tired.
"An ugly rumor is floating around the school, Taylor," Chapman said when the door was safely closed against listening ears. "It concerns you and one of our female students. Do you have anything to say?"
"That depends on the rumor," Rich answered. "What exactly is being said?"
Chapman sighed. He walked to a large window, stood with his back to Rich.
"It is being said that you almost raped a young girl in public-in front of a local tavern." Chapman turned. "Are all you athletes sex fiends? Can't I find one who will measure up to ordinary standards of decency? Have I made another mistake?"
Rich felt his own face tighten. Was he being sent to the gallows without the benefit of trial? Was this all the loyalty he could expect at this school from Chapman?
"I was at the tavern because of the assignment you gave me," he said evenly. "The student made the advances, not I. I did my best to discourage her. Before I could leave she accused me. That is the truth behind the rumor."
Chapman walked to his desk. He sat down and sighed wearily.
"Can you prove what you said?" he asked. "If a charge is brought before the school board you will have to prove it false. A school-board hearing is not a legal trial. Innocence of the accused is not assumed."
"No one else was involved. It would be my word against hers."
Chapman shook his head. "I'm afraid it won't be enough. Her word alone could have you fired-unless you can prove rebuttal. The board leans over backward in these matters." Chapman looked up from the desk. "There were people there who are willing to interpret your actions as molesting. I've questioned a few. The answers were most damaging."
Rich shrugged. He could not invent proof of his innocence. But what residue of guilt he still felt was rapidly vanishing.
"Evidently no charges have been made as yet," he said. "May I ask how you learned about the scene?"
Chapman took his pipe out of the desk, stuffed tobacco into the round bowl.
"One of the gym teachers overheard a conversation in the showers. It was between some boys. The teacher passed the conversation on to me for what it was worth. I imagine he thought he was doing us a favor by giving us time to get the other side of the story before a formal complaint was made."
Chapman lit his pipe. A large cloud of smoke hid his face. "I believe your story, Taylor. Don't ask me why-maybe for selfish reasons. Maybe because the impression you make on most people around here-few would think you capable of doing what you're accused of. I myself think you're doing a good job here. But if this thing gets larger, I'm afraid you will have to stand on your own two feet. I'll vouch for you before the board.
Please don't expect me to accomplish much. That is all."
Rich thanked him. He went out, stood in the corridor. Classes were changing. Students flowed by. He felt oddly conspicuous. How many kids had heard the gossip? How many believed it?
The thought came to him that this insane incident could mean the finish of his career. He would come out of the board hearing a dirty old man who preyed on young girls. No matter that he was only thirty-he would be old and dirty.
As he walked to his next class he took a good look at the few teachers mingled among the students. Did they wear sneers on their faces or was he imagining things? And the whole thing was such a damned farce. Sally had not denied she had rolled in the hay with Bill Miller, had boasted of doing so with others. Bill's reputation would remain unspotted-while he, Rich, stood a good chance of being booted out of the teaching profession.
Rich decided he would have been better off had he skipped his last class. It was a bomb. His mind was so wrapped up in troubles he had difficulty getting his subject across. Even the students breathed a sigh of relief when the bell ending the class rang.
Before leaving the building for the night Rich obtained Dave Rice's home address from the registrar's desk. Then he drove directly to Dave's home.
Dave's mother answered the door chimes. She was a fine-looking woman in her early fifties. She suggested Rich try Pete's place-Dave had mentioned the tavern before leaving the house in her car. Her pale face was worried.
Rich located Dave at the gin mill. The boy was sitting alone in one of the back hooths. The juke was playing but Dave was not listening to the music. His eyes were trained straight ahead, looking far out. They held puzzlement, as if Dave were trying to use them to pierce some secret curtain.
Rich ignored the bartender. He strode rapidly toward Dave's booth. Rich wanted to help this kid if he could. And in the back of his mind he wondered if Rice could help him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DAVE SAW Rich Taylor coming in his direction. He wanted to get up and leave. Then he thought angrily, why should he? Taylor was a cipher now. He could no longer hurt or help Dave. Dave forced himself to remain seated.
Taylor slid into the opposite seat
"Hi, Dave. Mind if I join you?"
"There are other seats. Are you trying to haunt me, Mr. Taylor?"
Rich spread ham-like hands on the table near Dave's beer glass.
"I understand you quit school today. Will you tell me why?"
'It's none of your business," Dave said, with a knife in his voice. "Don't waste your time asking."
"Is it because Coach Hartman failed to use you in the game Saturday?"
"Get lost, Mr. Taylor. I want to be alone. Can't you take a hint?"
Rich leaned back in the booth. He felt cramped in the tight quarters, had some difficulty finding a place for his knees under the table.
"You're making a mistake, Dave, a bigger mistake than you made leaving the game on Saturday. Now you're walking away from your entire future."
"To hell with the future," Dave snapped angrily. "There isn't any. Bill Miller is right-you have to live for today. Get your kicks while you can. Is that why you're here? For kicks?"
"Maybe. I like my job."
Rich fastened his eyes on the boy. The venom in Dave's voice, his eyes, indicated something more serious than disappointment in a football game. He wondered what the kid's problem really was.
Dave hated the way Taylor was looking at him. It was as if the big man could peer straight into his mind. The thought that Taylor might possess such a talent disturbed him.
"Okay," he said in frustration. "You want to know why I quit school. Get this-I'm going to be a father. That's right, a father. A father has to have a job, doesn't he? A father can't sit on his duff all day with a book in his hand, can he? After all, he has to bring home the food and all that jazz. Don't sweat me out. Maybe I'll get a job in a library. In that way I'll bring home the goodies and still get myself an education. You can't beat that, can you?"
Rich shook his head. "No-I can't think of anything to beat that. Who is the girl?"
"You really have a big nose, don't you, Mr. Taylor?"
Rich remembered the name of the girl Peg mentioned as being Dave's steady, the one with the red hair.
"Jeanie?"
"You flunk, teacher."
"The girl you've been rushing on the side-Sally Wilson? Is she the one?"
"You know a lot, don't you? Have you been reading my mail. Why don't you run off-you may have missed a letter. The late delivery must have arrived home an hour ago."
"It really is Sally, isn't it?" Rich pressed.
"Okay. It's Sally," Dave confessed. "She told me I knocked her up. So now I have to play daddy and there's nothing you can do about it."
Rich leaned forward. He took a shot in the dark. "I've reasons to think Bill Miller has slept with her. Do you know he isn't the father?"
"It entered my mind." Dave wiped the back of his hand over his dry lips. His beer glass was empty. He needed another drink and did not have the energy to get up and get it. "It makes no difference," he said tiredly. "Sally wants me. I'm hooked."
"That isn't exactly true," Rich said. "There are blood tests that can be taken. You might be able to prove you aren't the baby's father."
"That's a laugh."
Rich leaned back in the seat. They were both in a bind because of Sally, weren't they?
"How long have you been sleeping with Sally?"
Dave shrugged. "Off and on for about a month. Mostly on," he added with a sick grin.
"How far along is she? I mean how long has she been pregnant?"
"How should I know?"
"You could demand that she submit to an examination. Would you say Miller had been with her before you?"
Dave's lips twisted. "Miller's been banging her for a long, long-" Suddenly he stopped talking. Some of his panic left him. Taylor was really trying to help him. Maybe the man had something. He knew a flickering hope-but it was hope. "What shall I do?"
"Sit tight. Don't do anything foolish and don't go shooting off your mouth," Rich said. "I want some time to shop around. But I want a promise from you. If you prove out innocent I want you back in school. I want you out for football even if you have to sit on the bench every game."
"That's easy," Dave said.
"Are you the father?"
"I don't think so. But I could be."
"What about school?"
"I promise I'll be back-if I can."
Dave waited until Rich left Pete's before telephoning Frank Mains. He had to tell Frank Mains about his possible change of plans. Frank did not know about Sally's baby, as far as Dave had been able to determine. Dave had no intention of telling him, either. Frank had dropped out of school as a protest against Hartman's treatment of Dave. Frank's idea was that Hartman would bend over backward to try to get them back. If Dave returned to school without warning Frank, Frank might feel left alone on a limb.
Dave plunged right into the subject when Frank answered the phone.
Frank asked, "Did Hartman call you?"
"No. I've been talking to Rich Taylor. He might be able to work a deal for me. I thought you should know so you can jump the gun. Go back to class, Frank. I'll be there in a few days."
"You say Hartman never called-it was Taylor you talked with?"
"That's right."
There was a pause at the other end of the line. Dave could hear Frank's heavy breathing.
"I think I'll keep sitting it out for a while," Frank said. "I kinda enjoy watching the girls go by. Besides, I want Hartman to make the first break. I don't trust Taylor. Miller thinks he is for the birds and I agree with Bill."
Miller, Dave thought, was a phony for sure. He had not yet made up his mind about Taylor-but without Miller, Dave would not be in his present jam. It was Miller who had made the bedroom so available-probably to protect himself against possible paternity accusations.
Dave was noncommittal on the phone about his new opinion of Bill Miller. He said, "Anyway, since you dropped out because of me, I figured I'd better brief you. I may or may not go back-but you might as well be playing football."
"Let me sleep on it," Frank answered. "I'll have another talk with Bill. I'll let you know what happens. With both of us out of the backfield, Hartman's team won't win another game. While I'm thinking it over, hell be suffering. He deserves a lousy season. Bill may have his job next year."
A few more words and the line went silent. Dave hung up the phone. His future depended on what Taylor could do. Maybe the big guy could do nothing.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
PEG DEWITT heard the rumor about Rich and Sally. At first she considered it ridiculous-until she happened to see Rich walk into Chapman's private sanctuary.
Jane Picks, one of Chapman's three secretaries, motioned Peg to her desk.
"Have you heard the latest, Peg?"
"About Rich-and the Wilson girl?"
Jane nodded. She was blond but not pretty. Her own reputation was not the best. She mingled freely with students, sometimes dated seniors. But her information about what went on among the kids was usually fairly accurate. She was closer to them than most teachers.
"It's probably true," Jane said. She jerked her head toward Chapman's closed office door. "Right now Chapman has Taylor on the carpet."
"Oh?"
"There were some eyewitnesses," Jane said. "I found out who they were and Chapman's been talking to them. There'll probably be a board hearing."
Peg still refused to consider the gossip seriously.
"It must be some vindictive character assassination," she said. "Mr. Taylor is new at the school. Perhaps he offended a few teen-agers and this is their way of getting back at him."
"Don't you believe it," Jane said firmly. "I was at Pete's tavern a few minutes after it happened. I saw Mr. Taylor run like a scared rabbit. Sally Wilson was still screaming." She paused, her attention drifting to the closed door again. "Who would believe it-a big handsome lug like that? He could have any woman by just snapping his fingers. And he has to go around grabbing young girls? It's too bad he doesn't have eyes for mature women. I wouldn't mind him running a terrain check on my anatomy. Oh, well, it takes all kinds."
"It does," Peg answered.
She hurried out of the office. She had heard enough to make her ill. She remembered how irresistible Rich had been that night at her cottage-how vital his hungers. If she had not put him off last Saturday-would this have happened?
Her hard high heels made machine-gun sounds as she ran out of the building and to her car. Had any other girl but Sally Wilson been involved in the incident she might still have refused to believe Jane. But Rich had mentioned Sally's name before in connection with Dave Rice. He had mentioned Sally's physical maturity. What was that nice phrase he had used? A woman too soon....
And after that, Peg's own physical assets had caught his eye and-she refused now to think of what had happened later.
Jane's observation could well be correct, Peg reflected. Maybe Rich did prefer young girls. Perhaps the thought of Sally had triggered his hunger for her that night at the cottage. He had certainly waited a while before looking her up again-although here Peg had to admit to certain unfairness. She had sent him away that first time casually, to say the least.
Impulse directed Peg to Bill Miller's house. She did not bother to analyze it. Perhaps she wanted revenge-Rich did not approve of Bill. Perhaps she simply wanted to learn more about Rich. Bill had known Rich longer than anyone here.
"Teg," he said, blinking, as he answered the door. "What a pleasant surprise."
"I was passing by. My car was acting up. I thought-"
Why was she making obviously phony excuses? Bill was no mechanic.
Miller glanced over her shoulder, looked at the car parked against the curb. His eyes came back to her, their touch like that of a hot iron.
"What seems to be the problem?" he asked. "I'm not much on cars, but-"
"It's all right now," Peg put in quickly. "I really shouldn't have stopped at all."
"But you did." Bill gave her an expansive smile.
"Now that you are here I won't let you run off without at least having a drink with me. Besides, you never did see my living quarters."
He took her arm, drew her in and closed the door before she could protest. She had no business being here, she realized. There was no reason Bill should tell her anything about Rich.
Then she reminded herself of Rich and Sally. Revenge-was that really why she was here?
"A drink would go well right now," she managed to say brightly.
The drink was much too strong. She drank it. She and Bill sat quite properly in his living room-she on a plush easy chair, Miller on the couch facing it. At least ten feet of space separated them from each other. Peg found comfort for her conscience in that distance.
The second drink was much weaker, she noticed. Their conversation was casual, dealt with everyday school and faculty routine. She agreed to a third drink. This one was actually sweet.
"Are you adding sugar to these things?" she asked with a laugh.
Miller's handsome face beamed at her.
"Just making them milder. You made faces over the first one." His words were light and fuzzy, as if coming from a great distance. "You still haven't seen my home. Would you care for a short tour?"
She was thankful for the excuse to stretch her legs.
"I'd love it."
The kitchen was bright and neat. Peg did not care for the shade of blue it was painted but it was large and surprisingly well equipped. Bill, of course, entertained the kids a lot. He also said he liked to cook.
The stairway leading to the second floor was carpeted with thick beige nylon pile. One fault, she observed, was the height of the steps-she tripped on the first one and only Bill's steady hand kept her from falling.
All the way up the stairway his hand remained on her arm, a comforting, strong pressure.
"We used to be such good friends," he said when they reached the landing. "I can't begin to tell you how much I've missed seeing you."
It was odd, she thought, as they walked down the wide hall, but she could not remember the exact reason they stopped dating. There were so many nice ways about Bill-and he had, of course, wanted to make love to her. But he had always taken no for an answer-unlike Rich. Why had she actually felt uneasy when she had first come here? And would it really matter if he did make love to her? Rich had, on much shorter acquaintance.
Thinking of Rich-and Sally-she suddenly wanted to be loved.
The hallway was rather warm. She slipped off the forest-green suede jacket she was wearing and carried it over her arm. Bill smiled at her and his was a beautiful smile, pleasing and cheerful.
"This is a guest room," he said, opening a door. "Frankly, it needs redecorating. But it's quaintly old-fashioned-and meant for guests who shouldn't be encouraged to overstay their welcome."
The bedroom was a comfortable size. A brass bed with a white spread seemed lonely, resting near the blue wall.
Bill took her hand, led her across the hall.
"This is my room," he said. "I'm afraid it's a mess. I wasn't expecting company."
"There's no need to show it to me," she said with a sudden, odd, inward panic. She was not afraid of Bill-but of herself. "I'm intruding."
She was having difficulty pronouncing her words. For some strange reason her tongue seemed twice its normal size.
"All right," Bill laughed. "I'm sure the mess would upset you. I'm sloppy in my privacies. But you must see the main guest room. I insist."
He wheeled her into a room that was a dream. Imported lace curtains framed small paneled windows. A luxurious aqua carpet flowed from wall to wall like a tranquil sea. In one corner, placed diagonally, stood something Peg always dreamed of owning one day-a canopy bed trimmed with colonial gray silk printed with small patterns of light. The mattress was at least three feet thick.
"Like it?"
Peg said, "It's wonderful. It's perfect. How in the world did you manage it-a man?"
"Hidden talents." Bill grinned at her. "And what do you think of this?" He rolled open the dual closet doors to reveal a private bar. "All the comforts of home."
The room was positively entrancing. Peg was still falling in love with it when Bill placed a fresh drink in her hand. He led her to the bar, showed her the small refrigerator. She had never seen one so compact. As she was inspecting it closely Bill relieved her arm of her jacket.
The drink he gave her was cool and refreshing.
"I never realized you had such wonderful taste," she said thickly. "This room is heaven. I feel as if I'd always wanted to live here."
"It's meant for that-for being lived in."
She saw his arms reaching out for her. Again that small fear of herself flashed like a beacon through the back of her awareness. Then his lips were pressed to hers and the fear vanished.
Bill had a nice way of kissing. His lips were firm without being punishing.
She was glad when he took the empty glass from her hand. She was now able to lift her arms, twine them around his neck. A molten feeling flowed down from her mouth-locked to Bill's-to her loins. Her legs felt weak. The steady pressure of his hand against the small of her back began to bum her flesh-but as kindly as a hot sun.
She took a deep, quick breath when he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the canopy bed. She felt as if she were being deposited on a cloud.
The bed was deep and soft. The thick mattress molded resiliently to her contours. She loved its caress, wanted more intimate contact with it-and with Bill. She was glad when he began to undress her.
The mattress accepted her nakedness, molding to her minutest contour like an intimate caress. Her nakedness and Bill's-as they came together. The mattress itself seemed to accept them as one.
Bill's hands and mouth caressed her and she sought him out eagerly, finding all of him. His mouth left hers, covered her face with kisses, moved down to her breasts. It lingered, teased each breast to life, coursed slowly down her belly to her ultimate intimacy. It stopped there and she felt his breath body, followed by a gentle, wet probing that caused her to convulse and cry out, to lift her loins up to his kiss and spread her thighs.
He was upon her then and the magic mattress contained them both, letting him be heavy but not crushing-exactly right. It permitted his big arms around her without discomfort-and when they were joined, their limbs locked, it permitted movement so free, so un-trammeled, so satisfying that she and Bill might have been mating suspended indeed on a cloud.
A warm, rushing cloud that carried them both through warm currents to a flaming, panting striving toward fulfillment.
She wanted their journey to stretch to eternity and pleaded with him to stop. He stopped and they floated gently, still toward that goal. She took his face between her hands and drank thirstily from his mouth-then ran her hands to his hips and the tumult began.
Inside her. A throbbing convulsion. He replied to it, grunting. She rose to him, was pressed down, rebounded-and the headlong rush began again.
Now she did not want to stop him-nor could she have. An agonized anticipation made her plead incoherently. He answered in wordless sounds and their bodies erupted.
Explosion after explosion-deep inside her, through her. Flesh, mind and senses-dissolved, contracted, fused. A liquid, molten stream joined them, merged their two entities into an inseparable, ecstatic oneness....
She was dimly aware of a lessening heat, a slowing of her senses. She passed through a phase of languorous delight in their continuing oneness to a realization of their separateness. She felt him leave her, then rise from her to he beside her, his hands still carressing her lingeringly.
She pushed them away, pushed him away. She felt as if she were waking from some dream. But it had been no dream. She felt ravished, spent-but satisfied:
This was why she had come-to get even with Rich. To betray him with all of her body, all of her senses-as he had betrayed her.
She eased her long legs over the side of the bed. There was little strength in them. Her breasts, she noticed, still retained a slight sheen of perspiration. She touched the tips. They were sensitive and swollen.
Bill made no effort to stop her as she dressed. Neither of them spoke. He, too, left the bed suddenly, went out of the room.
She heard a faint ringing-the doorbell. She hurried with her dressing. Voices reached her faintly from below. Bill must have answered the bell.
Fully dressed, she cautiously opened the bedroom door. The voices were coming clearer-one was the heavy baritone of Rich Taylor.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
AFTER LEAVING Dave Rice in the booth at Pete's tavern, Rich tried unsuccessfully to telephone Peg. When she did not answer, he drove out to her home. She did not answer his knock. He went back to his car to wait for her.
Time dragged. As he waited he cursed the swift change of events that threatened not only to cancel out his mission here, but put an end to all he had worked for. He wondered if Peg had heard the rumors-and would she believe them? His guilt feelings returned. She might as well believe them-they were painfully close to the truth-in spirit if not in fact.
If he had to leave here-would she go with him?
He meant to fight this thing, of course, beat Sally at her little game. Her involvement with Dave might help-if he could prove her accusations of Dave false. But dirt would fly in such a fight-and that was why he wanted to see Peg. He wanted Peg to understand what loyalty to him might mean to her.
Some dirt might attach to her. He meant to give her a chance to break off with him before it did.
Damn Sally. She had been right in telling him she was no kid. One of nature's freaks. At her tender years, she was-as he had told Peg-a woman too soon. A misfit in the time, place and society to which she was born. What had she wanted in Dave-when she obviously needed, and preferred, an older man as a mate? Dave would be nothing more than a pet for her to have around the house. It would take at least a Bill Miller to satisfy her wants.
Bill Miller. Miller was the cornerstone in the evil Rich had been called on to combat. If Rich shook the cornerstone, something might come apart in the net of circumstances trapping Rich. Did Miller know about Sally's baby? Was Sally actually about to have a child?
Rich decided at last to pay Miller a visit. He twisted the ignition key. He was accomplishing nothing, waiting here for Peg. He drove to Miller's house.
His first ring of Miller's doorbell brought no answer. It was just not his night. Then he saw a light at one of the upstairs windows. He pressed his thumb against the button and held it there until at last the door opened.
Miller was not dressed for company. A red velvet bathrobe covered what seemed nakedness. Nor did Miller seem mentally attuned to unexpected company.
He eyed Rich with hostility.
"What in hell do you want here?"
"To talk to you."
"Come back tomorrow. I'm ready to turn in."
"With whom?"
Lipstick was smeared over Miller's mouth and there was a flushed look about him that indicated recent exertion.
"None of your damned business."
"Is she of age?"
"What do you mean by that?"
Rich wondered if Miller's bedmate was Sally. The right answer might solve his problems.
"You've messed up a lot of lives since graduating from college, Bill. Now my life is threatened with ruin. I've got questions to ask and the answers will have to come from you."
"Am I supposed to say something now?" Bill tightened the belt around his narrow waist. The act emphasized the broadness of his shoulders. "All right-I'll say it. Get the hell away from here, Rich."
Rich pushed his way into the house. Roughly, he said, "We might get a little noisy. Better do our fighting indoors. You wouldn't want the neighbors to complain, I'm sure."
He strode into the living room. Bill followed him. They squared away, facing each other.
"Okay," Bill said. "Get it off your mind. You've got five minutes-then I'm throwing you out. I'll shorten the time limit if it will please you."
Rich said, "You've filled the heads of the kids who flock here with so much junk it has flowed over and eaten into other people. Don't kid yourself, Chapman has you pegged. You've been walking on broken glass for a long time. It's just that your feet are so tough you haven't noticed it."
"Then why doesn't Chapman fire me?" Miller laughed. "I'll tell you why-he knows the school board wouldn't go along with him. I'm part of the school policy. The board paid good money to get me here. I add prestige to this snotty setup. The clowns with their big convertibles love to tell each other at their business dinners what a famous man they have on the school staff. Boil it all down and you find out I have more influence than Chapman. Our dear principal is a figurehead, nothing more. You haven't been here long-but even you should know that by now."
"I've been here long enough to realize what you are doing to those kids who flock around you. You've confused them. They think sex, sin and scandal are replacements for the old three R's. Dropouts have increased since your stay here. Dave Rice and Frank Mains have left school-but I suppose you know that."
"Of course I know it." Miller took a cigarette from-the pocket of his robe. He took his time lighting it. "Blame Hartman for Rice and Mains. I didn't keep Rice out of the game."
"Rice isn't staying out of school because of what Hartman did to him. The kid's in real trouble. A school girl is pregnant. She's blaming Rice for her condition."
"Tough luck for Rice. He should learn to be more careful. I'll have to talk with him."
"You've done enough talking," Rich said tightly. "Your talking started the kid on the way to his troubles."
"Oh, can it, Rich. Then sell it to some B-pictures."
"Rice was going with a nice clean girl before he got mixed up with the crowd you've had a hand in educating. Through your parties he bounced into an affair with another girl who is mixed up because of you. Now he is being forced to marry the wrong girl." Rich paused. "So he thinks."
"Doesn't he know?"
Rich studied Miller. "The girl's name is Sally Wil-son.
Miller's face grew quiet, thoughtful. He drew on his cigarette, let out a smoke screen that hid his eyes. "How does that affect me?"
"You had the girl in bed long before Dave knew her. The way I look at it, you're a better bet as the father of her coming child than Dave is."
Miller turned away. He headed toward the kitchen. Rich stayed right with him. Miller mixed a drink. He did not offer one to Rich.
"You have no proof," he said after a long pull at the drink. "Sure-just between us two-I played house with her. Kicks for her, kicks for me. If she's pregnant, that's tough."
Rich nodded. "Sure-tough all around. I'm reporting you to the school board. Dave Rice will back up my statements. Other evidence will turn up in an inquiry. Rice has nothing to lose. I think the board will listen to what he has to say. And what he'll say will provide leads to others involved."
"You wouldn't dare to blast this wide open. Some big people would be hurt by an open scandal. We'll both be through here."
Rich shifted his weight.
'You should have thought of that earlier," he said. "Did you speak to anyone before coming here with all this?"
"Dave Rice is the only one."
Rich braced himself. Miller feinted with his left. Rich shifted to block the blow. Miller crossed a hard right that thudded against Rich's jaw.
The blow hurt Rich. He backed away from another right. A sinking left buried itself in his stomach and Rich had all he could do to keep erect.
Miller grew careless. He missed with a left and Rich straightened him up with a right of his own. Next he nailed Miller with a fist to the midsection. Miller began to double and Rich hooked one that smashed Miller's nose. Blood spurted.
"Enough," Miller blurted through the crimson blood. "I've had enough. Don't hit me again."
Rich halted. The blood reminded him of the lipstick smears he had seen earlier on Miller's face.
He said, 'I'm going to look upstairs in your bedroom. If you've got Sally there, I'm going to take her away from here. I'll take her to a doctor. An examination should prove something. If she's more than a month along, Dave can't be the father of her baby."
He started for the stairs. Miller followed him.
"Don't go up, Rich. Sally's not there."
Rich kept walking. "Who is?"
Miller said, "You don't want to know. She's no kid. I swear-you'll be hurting someone who doesn't deserve it if you go up."
Rich paused. Miller's voice rang with sincerity. Slowly Rich retraced his steps.
"Tomorrow morning," Rich said. "You have until then to make up your mind. I don't want to ruin you. Clear Dave. Resign from the faculty. Make some arrangements to take care of Sally-give her a chance for a new kind of life. Or I blow this thing sky-high."
Rich walked to the door, went out. He wondered who the woman in Miller's bedroom was-and how much she had heard. And how much of what she had heard was news to her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MILLER STAGGERED into his kitchen. He ran cold water into cupped hands, splashed his bleeding face. After a while, the red flow stopped.
He heard spike-heeled footsteps in the next room. Peg-he was glad Rich had not seen her. He liked Peg, had no wish to hurt her. He wiped his face with a dish towel and turned.
Peg was watching him from the doorway, her face ashen.
"I heard what Taylor said to you. Is it true-were you sleeping with Sally Wilson? Is she carrying your child?"
Miller did not speak. Her face managed to express sympathy and loathing simultaneously. Much of the loathing was probably aimed at herself-she looked ill.
"How could you do such a thing-and let Dave be accused?"
Miller said, "The thing isn't settled. Dave still could be right for the part." He lit a cigarette shakily. "Besides-after what happened upstairs a while ago, you ought to understand how-certain things can happen. Don't try to tell me you did what you did because of love eternal." Peg said slowly, "I think I could kill you right now-" Miller shook his head. "Don't change the subject. We're talking about sex, baby. Sex is with us the moment a doctor slaps a bare bottom and breathing starts. It stays with us through inhibitions, social conventions and taboos. You can't tell me something as basic as that isn't healthy-damn it, whether you admit it or not, you came here wanting what you got. I just happened to be the instrument you used. I didn't invent the game. Neither did you. Sex has been with us since the world began. What crime have I actually committed that you're not guilty of? All right-Sally's a kid, you're not But is it hoher to sin late-than early?"
Peg turned to leave the house. She almost ran toward the door. Bill followed, caught her.
"It's too late for you to go home-to undo what's been done," he said. "Stay here. We'll talk this out."
"Where-in your bed?"
"The thought entered my mind," he said.
"I can imagine it would. I don't want your land of convictions. What you've done-what I did, coming here feeling as I did, can't be made right by rationalizations. Let go of me, Bill."
He released her. She ran out of the house.
Classes had begun when Rich arrived at school. He had delayed leaving his rooms, hoping that Miller would call him. The call had failed to come. Miller evidently planned to sit tight, see what would happen. If open scandal broke, he would fight dirt with dirt.
As he hung up his coat, Rich found himself wondering again about the woman who had been with Miller last night. Knowing her identity might or might not help Rich. He had taken Miller's word last night that it would not-that, by going upstairs to investigate Bill's bedrooms, he would have inflicted needless hurt.
Today he was not sure.
Rich hurried to his waiting students. He apologized to them for his lateness. Was there something new in their attitudes toward him this morning? As he proceeded with his teaching, he noticed some of the girls leaning forward in their seats, eagerly hanging on his every word. By now, most of the students were aware of his encounter with Sally Wilson, he assumed-whatever their interpretation of the rumors. He found it impossible for him to judge their attitudes.
Rich put off calling on Chapman until after his second class. Miller was in school. Peg was not. Her classes were being handled by a substitute.
When he arrived at the principal's office, he made it a point to ask the blond secretary about Peg.
"She's on the sick list today." She nodded toward Chapman's sanctum. "Mr. Chapman wants you to go right in. I'll buzz him to say you're here." The blonde touched the intercom. "Mr. Taylor is here, Mr. Chapman."
Chapman's door opened before Rich reached it. Sally Wilson, looking scrubbed and demure this morning, came out of the principal's office.
She gave Rich a long look as she walked past him. Her smile was fleeting, friendly, exactly the proper student-to-teacher smile.
She said, "Good morning, Mr. Taylor-" and hurried out.
Chapman was beckoning to Rich from his open doorway. Rich went in and the old man shut the door.
"I had to do something," he said. "The story of that unfortunate tavern episode was gathering too much momentum." Chapman shook his head. "Strange girl. I don't understand her at all. She admits starting the rumor. She admits teasing you at the tavern. But it was all a joke, she said. Kid high spirits. Still, I had to call her in to question her. I asked her why she had not volunteered the information earlier-killed the joke, so to speak. She still seemed amused by it-but she apologized."
Rich could feel perspiration forming on the palms of his hands. The urge to wipe it away on his trousers was difficult to overcome. He did not know whether to feel relieved or more apprehensive.
"Did she seem to realize the seriousness of the situation?"
Chapman sat down behind his desk, leaned back in the swivel chair.
"That troubles me-I'm not sure she did-or does. But I must say I'm relieved to learn the whole thing was a-shall we say, misunderstanding. She exonerated you completely. No doubt some damage has been done.
At any rate, no charges will be made against you. If the rumors reach the board, I can explain you were at the tavern as part of your special assignment." Chapman paused, peered at Rich over steepled fingers. "You don't wish to bring charges against the girl, do you?"
Rich shook his head. If the story about Sally's pregnancy were true, the girl was in enough trouble.
Chapman nodded approvingly. "That was the attitude I hoped you would take." He brought out his pipe, stuffed the bowl with tobacco. "One more thing. Whether or not I have occasion to speak to the board about the present difficulty, I am going to request a raise for you in your next contract."
"That is very generous of you," Rich said. He hesitated. "The reason I requested to see you this morning concerns Bill Miller."
Chapman raised a hand. "I know. I'm curious as to how you managed it."
Rich paused in confusion. Chapman picked up the conversation.
"He was here early this morning. I almost hated to see a bright young man like that resign so suddenly in the middle of a term-but, all things considered, his absence will, I think, prove a blessing. Also, his mind was quite made up. I believe he has had a better offer elsewhere."
"Did he say he had one?"
"Not exactly. He mentioned moving out to the west. He was rather vague on the subject of his future-but optimistic. I did understand he's considering getting married." Chapman grew a broad smile. "I hoped you could enlighten me further."
Rich shrugged. "I'm afraid I can't."
"I won't press you, Taylor. Some things are better left unsaid. I must admit I'm dying to know why Miller resembles a man recently run over by a truck. I thought you might have a few marks on you and I would have the answer. Now I will never know, will
"I'm afraid not." Rich kept a straight face.
Chapman let him walk as far as the door before calling out to him, "For a big man you must be very fast on your feet."
"You might say that." Rich smiled. "As a kid I was always leaving the house late. To get to school on time, I ran ah the way."
Chapman was puffing away contentedly on the pipe when Rich went out.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DAVE RICE was surprised to see Rich Taylor waiting for him. Rich's car was parked in front of Dave's home. The big man climbed out. His huge frame towered above the roof of the vehicle.
"Hi," Taylor said. "I thought you'd never come home."
"It's only suppertime," Dave said. "You sound as if I were rolling in at three in the morning with a load on, Mr. Taylor."
As soon as he had said the words, Dave was sorry. The pleasant expression on Taylor's face had promised good news. Now Rich's face became square and set.
"Get off it, Rice," the big man said. "You've been walking on broken glass for a long time-I'm offering you a new pair of shoes. But keep rubbing people the wrong way and you won't have a friend left in the world, including me. If you're still counting on Miller, Bill will be leaving town."
"Who says?"
'I'm saying it now. He's resigned. Now, I want to see you in school the first thing in the morning. I've talked with coach Hartman, also with Buck Myers' father. Myers isn't a bad guy-just a too-fond father. He didn't intend direct harm to you. Hartman will play you as often as the situation demands. In a way, I have to agree with Buck's father-Buck does have potential and needs playing to improve. But it won't be at your expense from now on."
"Big deal," Dave said doubtfully. "Two weeks from now, Hartman will change his mind because it suits him. Buck's old man will start to put on pressure again. And he throws a lot of weight in this town."
"Of course he does," Rich answered. "So do you, even if you don't realize it. How much weight will depend on what you do from here on out. We all have influence in one way or another. With Myers, it is money. Your asset now is your playing ability. Later on in life yours, too, may be money."
"What kind of weight do you pack, Taylor?"
Rich grinned. "I'm not sure," he said. "Maybe it is my size. At one time it was talent with a football."
Dave said, "Maybe you're big in more ways than one, Mr. Taylor. One more thing-there aren't many games left on the schedule. Hartman was going to bring scouts to look me over. That was last year-I mean, that's when he promised."
"I intend making a call to a coach I know," Rich answered. "One of these Saturdays a scout will be in the stands to catch your act. If you put on a good show, you'll wind up in a good college, believe me."
Dave remained sober. "Nice try."
Rich lifted an eyebrow.
"I really appreciate your interest," Dave said. "I want you to know I'll always be grateful."
"Then why the glum face?"
"I'll have to talk it over with Sally. Have you forgotten, she is pregnant?"
"Oh, that. Miller will take care of Sally. I talked to him a little while back. He's talked it over with her-assumed full responsibility. He even mentioned being willing to marry her-if her parents consent-but I doubt he'd be the best possible husband for Sally. Still, she needs someone now."
Dave could not speak. His mind was a galaxy filled with shooting stars, each carrying the fulfillment of a wish. It did not seem possible that he could be free, just like that. Suddenly he felt free. He leaped high in the air and banged his hands together over his head, gave a rebel yell.
Taylor watched him, grinning. "You had a scare, Dave. You almost threw away your future. I understand Jeanie is a nice girl. Stay in her league. You'll be smarter if you do."
"I will." The words exploded out of Dave. He stared at Taylor. "Where do I start telling you how wrong I've been?"
Rich moved toward his car.
"Let's drop that. Just don't forget to be in school tomorrow."
"I'll be there."
Taylor laughed. "Fine. And with no lead in your butt I want to see a future Ail-American halfback."
Dave forced himself to wait until after Taylor drove away before running inside the house and calling Frank Mains.
"We've got it made," he shouted when Mains got on the phone. "Hartman gave in-I'm going back to school. I'll pick you up in the morning."
Mains grunted. "Don't bother. I'm not going back."
"Why not?"
"I like the free and easy life," Frank said. "I'm my own boss now. I come and go as I please. Maybe I'll get a job. Some chicks you've got to buy. While you're sitting on your pants in school, I'll be thinking of you from some chick's bed."
"Don't be a fool," Dave said quickly. "A scout will be looking us over. No school, no football, remember?"
Frank sounded bored. "To hell with football. I've got better things planned. From now on I'm sticking to softer sports like playing with girls."
Frank could be like a rock when he wanted to be, Dave knew. It would take something big to jar him out of complacency.
"Did you hear about Miller?"
"What about Miller?"
"He's leaving town." Dave repeated what Taylor told him, carefully avoiding mentioning Sally's condition.
"How about that-Miller is running out?" Frank made a disgusted sound. "I thought he was tougher than that It goes to show you."
"You might as well come back to school," Dave suggested. "The cram sessions will be finished now that Miller is leaving."
There was a long pause with only Frank's breathing traveling the wire length between them.
"You could be wrong about that," Frank said at last. "You've given me an idea. Of course I'll have to look around town for a place of my own."
"What are you talking about?"
"I can pick up where Miller left off. There must be dozens of the gang who will want to get in out of the rain. Maybe I'll even make a dollar out of it. I won't need much to begin with. A soft bed will do as a starter."
Frank was still talking when Dave hung up on him. Miller's dirty work was still having its effect. But Taylor had handled Miller with ease, Dave thought. Frank would be out of business before he started if Taylor decided to have it that way.
Dave shrugged, then phoned Jeanie's number. Her copper hair and pliant flesh replaced Miller and Frank in his thoughts.
"I'm coming over to pick you up as fast as I can get there," he told her rapidly. "I have some real important matters to talk over with you."
Jeanie made a bitter sound over the phone.
"Sorry. I remember the last time you sang that song to me. I'm not falling again."
"This is different," Dave promised. 'I want to show you something."
"Such as?" Jeanie was still skeptical.
"Such as a store downtown which sells rings. I want your opinion on one or two before I make a decision."
"What kind of rings?"
"Engagement, to start," he said deeply. "We won't be in the market for the other kind until after I graduate. But we might as well look at them too as long as we are there."
"Dave-"
He put down the receiver gently. He knew she would be ready for him by the time he got there.
Rich rang the bell at Peg's house a number of times before she answered. The door opened barely an inch. He could not see her from where he was standing.
"Are you alone?" she asked.
Rich assured her he was alone. The door opened wider, enough to let him see why she was concerned. She was covered with a blue, broad-mesh toga made of silk. The garment was loose fitting and as transparent as a spider's web. Behind the fabric her curved body stood out like a gentle pink light.
"I was taking a shower," she explained.
Her hair was still damp, he noticed. It had been brushed up in a hurried sweep. Small drops of moisture remained on her pert nose, missed by a rapid toweling.
"I can come back later," he said. "Our date was for Saturday. Bight now I just wanted to look in on you."
He could not keep his eyes off the shifting highlights of her flesh as it stirred beneath the toga. One adventurous globe was seeking an escape from the net trapping it. Even as he watched, the tip managed partial freedom.
"I woke with cold symptoms," she answered. "It seemed wise to stay in bed. I feel better now."
She did not look well, he thought, as she led him inside. But she was desirable. Her hips, pushing out against the netting, put a warm hunger through him. He remembered their first night together-and did not suddenly want to wait until Saturday.
He decided some sort of conversation would have to be pursued immediately. He did not want her to run away to dress.
He began to talk about Dave Rice. He told her of Miller's decision to leave town.
"So much has happened in one day," Peg said, "to make up for things that should never have happened at all."
Rich thought he detected an odd, desperate note in her voice. It was as if she knew more had happened than he knew about-something she wished could also be made up.
"You didn't really have a cold this morning," he said with sudden intuition.
She shook her head, moved to sit on the couch. He had evidently succeeded in making her change her mind about dressing.
"Sit down, Rich," she told him.
She seemed to flinch slightly when he sank to the couch beside her. He reached for her almost automatically.
She pulled away.
"Don't touch me, Rich."
He drew back his arms. "All right."
"Do you remember how things happened-that first night you came here?"
"I'll never forget."
She said soberly, "I don't mean what happened-but how it happened."
He thought back. Details came to his mind. "I'm not sure I know what you're driving at. But I remember this. I wanted you-and you wanted me."
She looked away from him. "Correction-I was helpless with wanting you. And I insisted that what happened had to be for that one time only. No strings, no commitments. And that we weren't even to make a special effort to see each other again."
"I remember. But we did see each other again. We had dinner last Saturday, remember? And we agreed on commitments then, at least in principle. Due date, this coming Saturday."
"I want to call it off, Rich."
"Why?"
"Are you good at confessing, Rich?"
"Depends on what I'm supposed to confess."
"What happened between you and Sally Wilson?"
He told her. In detail. She seemed really to want to know. He omitted nothing-not even the fact that he had been tempted by Sally, had wanted her.
He finished with: "The thing's all cleared up now. Chapman called her into his office and she told him it was all a gag. She even told Chapman she couldn't get a rise out of me." Rich paused thoughtfully. "She was wrong there. If she had tried to do what she did anywhere else-in some more convenient, private place-I don't know what would have happened. That's something I'll feel guilty about for the rest of my life."
Peg stood up. "I'm glad you told me that-you'll never know how glad. Let me make us a drink. No, don't come with me. I want to think for a moment."
He sat and waited, listening to her whispering movements in the kitchen. She came back with two iced whiskeys, handed one to him.
She said, her voice steady, "I heard you discussing Sally with Bill Miller yesterday. I was the woman in Bill's bedroom." She took a quick, long pull of her drink. "You were quite convincing," she added. "I saw Bill after you left. I didn't stay after that."
He stared at her wordlessly.
She took another swallow of her drink. She said, 'It was considerate of you not to come upstairs." She glanced at his untasted drink. "I thought you might want that. But you don't have to finish it before you leave."
He picked up the drink. The gesture was automatic. So was his sipping it.
"Who said anything about leaving?" he asked.
A great fight was raging within him-a life-and-death struggle. He knew Peg saw it in his eyes, for hers grew suffering, filmed with tears.
She said, "I went to Bill's place because of what I heard-and believed-about you and Sally."
Rich forced his voice to be steady. "You had a motive, I guess, from what I just told you." He stood up. "I'll leave now if you want me to. But our date for next Saturday still stands. I won't let you back out of that."
She asked, "Don't you want to hear about what happened at Bill's place?"
He put down his glass, walked over to her, took her nearly empty glass and set it on the coffee table beside his. He put both big hands on her shoulders. His inner, life-and-death struggle was over and he had won. His gaze was calm.
"I'm not very good at listening to confessions. We've all done things we haven't the power to forgive-but they can be forgotten. I'd like to forget about Sally-and to have you forget about Bill."
The curious living stillness of her face was shattered. It came apart. Her mouth twisted desperately and her eyes were streaming tears.
"Rich-don't leave me," she whispered and was in his arms. "Not now-not Saturday-not ever-"
He stood towering over her, holding her to him, her soft flesh warm against his hands through the lacy fabric, her size lost against his massiveness.
He stood holding her. It was not a time for commitments-but it was the time for him not to leave her.
